BSG: S5, Episode Two: Is This What You Wanted?
by MissiAmphetamine
Summary: In this episode... Starbuck tries to cope in the aftermath of the last episode, Lee reaches his breaking point, Romo dabbles in people's lives with questions and deepities, everything changes for Gaius and Caprica, and we catch a glimpse of an old friend... (Canon compliant up until arrival on Earth.) Sequel to "Episode One: If Wishes Were Fishes"
1. Part One - What We Know

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Battlestar Galactica or the characters. I make no profit from the story – I'm just playing in RDM's sandpit.

_Author's Note:_

First off, thank you to everyone who read – and reviewed – Episode One: If Wishes Were Fishes. I'm so glad to know people enjoyed it, especially those who reviewed! Reviews are possibly the best things ever – they're what give me the motivation to keep writing when my muse is off being an uncooperative bastard. Thank you!

Secondly, Episode Two is T rated, but a hard T, and at points may slide towards an M rating –chapters with M-rated portions will be indicated at the top of the chapter. Swearing (does _frak_ count as swearing, really though?), violence and adult themes may abound, but there's nothing really graphic.

Thirdly, well, just _enjoy!_

# # #

The one room cabin was quiet, the small windows condemning it to a drapery of gloom. The fire was smouldering, not really needed for its heat, but necessary if one wanted to have a cup of tea. The forest around the cabin was still, and inside, just as still, sat Lee Adama, a fired clay cup in his hand. He sat on a rough-hewn wooden stool at the equally roughly put together wooden table, staring at a knot in one of the logs in the cabin's wall as he sipped at his pine needle tea and wished it were alcohol. It was nearing evening and the sun was a globe of burnt orange and gold low on the horizon, rich light glinting through the forest outside and lancing a few stray rays into the cabin.

Lee sighed and tried to feel something other than emptiness, and failed. His mind was blanketed with a suffocating layer of fog and he felt leaden, miserable. Every evening for the past five nights he had sat and waited for Kara to come home. He sat and drank his pine needle tea and tried not to cry into it while he wondered what the hell had happened to his life. And every night at midnight Lee banked the fire, latched the cabin door, and went to bed. Alone.

He hadn't seen Kara since she had left him to Tigh's tender mercies. Luckily, the Colonel hadn't done anything more than rough Lee up a bit, but he had seen the look in Tigh's eyes and that hurt worse than any blow. Not just anger, but confused disappointment. Like he couldn't understand Lee's position, his actions, his beliefs. At the end Tigh had stepped back from Lee after a blow that left the younger man's mouth bloody, and said,

"Bill would be frakking ashamed of you." And Tigh wasn't trying to hurt Lee or goad him; that was the worst part of it. Tigh simply genuinely believed that William Adama would be disappointed in his son. And maybe he was right.

Lee's head was bowed, the fired clay cup forgotten in his hands, tilting so a few drops slipped over the rim and onto the plank floor. Tigh had told him to go not long after that, his voice tired. Lee had been unable to meet the man's eyes. He blamed himself for the attack.

Romo Lampkin's attempted assassination hadn't been Lee's idea – in fact, the complete opposite. He had tried his best to cool his peoples' tempers and prevent violence. But the fact remained was that it had been Lee who had begun the anti-technology movement and kept it going, it had been Lee who had pushed the issue, inflamed the people. Although it hadn't been his hand that held the knife, it had been his words and his leadership that had led to that moment. Boxey would never have thought to attack Romo if Lee had just let the issue go, and accepted that the colonists were going to keep their technology. And yet.

And yet… Despite the attack on Romo, despite Boxey's death, Lee still knew that he wouldn't stop his efforts to convince Romo and the Council to destroy the orbiting fleet. Frak it, he _believed_ in it. He couldn't just abandon his beliefs. He was in this until the end, whatever end it might bring him to.

"Damnit."

Lee sighed and put his now cold tea on the table, running his fingertips over the uneven wood surface. A thin beam of sunlight crossed the tabletop where his fingers traced, staining his tanned skin in tones of orange and gold. He needed someone to confide in; an advisor, a friend. But there was no one that Lee could trust whom would be willing to talk to him. He was alone in this.

His eyes cast towards the bed in the corner of the cabin, thoughts of loneliness bringing him back again to Kara's absence. It had been five days, and somehow it felt like months. He couldn't focus without her, he kept worrying about her, missing her. He was a wreck. Lee loved Kara like she was a part of him; he had since that first night – from the moment he had laid eyes on her in her apartment, Zack proudly showing off his fiancée. Gods, he still felt guilty about that, even all these years later.

Everything between Lee and Kara since then had been just like that night. Wanting each other, desperately. But always circumstances dictated that it wouldn't be right, it wouldn't work out. Except for that one night on New Caprica. Drunk as frak and rolling on the ground like the universe was each other and nothing else existed. It had been perfection, and even now it hurt him to remember it, followed as it was with the less pleasant memory of finding out she had run off and married Anders.

Gods. Why had she done that? Was it all because of that night they met? Did she still feel guilty about that too? It was like everything they did together had been trapped into the pattern established that first evening.

Lee groaned and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand, trying to gather his rambling thoughts. His head hurt and he itched for a drink, but he had finished up his private store of moonshine two nights ago, and didn't want to show his face in Landfall to go to Joe's Bar. Last time he had been in Landfall had been the day Romo was stabbed, after Tigh had released him, and on his way out of the settlement he'd been accosted by a couple of the President's supporters. Extremely fervent fellows, one of them very skilled with unusual uses for the common garden spade. Lee had come out of that distinctly second best, with a black eye to add to the list of bruises Tigh had bestowed upon him. They were still fading, his face a mottled yellow-green. No, Lee was staying clear of Landfall for the next few weeks.

He ate at last as the sun dropped down further, only a glowing red-orange sliver above the horizon. Meat and greens boiled in a misshapen clay pot, padded out with unleavened bread. The meat was tender and tasty but the bread and greens left something to be desired – still, a damn sight better than the algae they had been reduced to eating in the Fleet though.

Lee nursed another cup of tea through the long hours until midnight, trying to think of ways to rein in his dangerously restive followers. He was teetering on the knife's edge, his power over them wavering dangerously, thanks mostly to Paulla. All he could do was try and speak to them, to convince them that in the end, violence wasn't going to solve their problems. He searched and scraped for a way to do that, unsuccessfully.

And then as the sky darkened to deep navy and midnight drew near, Lee's mind kept drifting back to Kara. She had been so cold when she had escorted him to Landfall with Hotdog, her shoulders stiff and her eyes hard and unnaturally bright. When they had gotten to the lock up, she had dismissed Hotdog, and for a moment Lee thought Kara was going to relax then, to stop being that painfully cold stranger and talk to him. Oh, she'd frakking talked to him all right. Harsh frakking words with her hands trembling and her face turned away from his, like looking at him disgusted her. And then she'd locked him in a cell and turned him over to Tigh, to play punching bag for an hour or so. Gods.

The lone candle Lee had lit at eight had burnt down almost seven half hour marks – it was nearly midnight. Lee got to his feet with his now cool cup of tea in hand and wandered out of the cabin, squinting up at the stars and the iridescent disc of the moon. It was peaceful out here, a kind of serenity in the air. It didn't escape being marred by his loneliness. He dumped the remaining liquid on the rather sad looking flowers Kara had planted beside the cabin door to try and make the place look more like a home. The plants were flowering, the colours silvery by the bright light of the full moon. Lee resisted the sudden urge to dig them up and fling them at a nearby tree, or stamp on them and grind them into pulp. That would be childish. He went back inside with a sigh.

He tossed the cup in the wooden bucket that served as a sink and raked his hands through his hair. He suspected he knew at least part of why Kara had been so cold to him, why she had stayed away from him for so long. There was a mural on the wall above the fireplace – an image of the Battlestar Galactica loomed gracefully against a background of stars, the smaller ships of the fleet painted huddled safely behind her bulk. A strange image for the wall of the leader of the anti-tech faction, but Lee was glad Kara had thought of it. He looked at the mural, and he thought of his father. It was like it kept him near.

She had painted it with Boxey by her side, the boy mixing up paints and slathering on the black of space, dotting careful stars on top. Boxey had helped her and Lee dig the garden and plant the vegetables when they had first picked the spot for their cabin. He had gone into Landfall with Kara once she had joined Landfall security, and dogged her every footstep – to the bar, to the break room the Landfall patrol relaxed in, even out on patrols themselves… The kid had adored Kara. Lee had seen the light of teenage infatuation in Boxey's eyes. Less of late, with Boxey becoming more immersed in the divide between the two factions, and Kara placing herself more and more on what Boxey – and Lee – considered the wrong side. But still. They had both cared about the kid, and just six days ago Kara had shot him dead without even blinking.

Lee sat back on the stool at the table, staring into the low burning fire, hands laced behind his neck, thinking. There was nothing else to do with these long lonely evenings once you got sick of playing One Man Stand and ran out of drink. His eyes flicked to the candle – time to latch the door and go to bed. Without Kara. Again.

Lee had a theory as to why Kara stayed away, and he suspected the reason had very little to do with the anger she held toward him for his part in the tragic frakking mess. He had heard what had happened the afternoon the President had been stabbed, although the stories always varied a little. Eyewitnesses were notoriously half-blind and deaf, and hallucinating to boot. But from all the different versions, Lee thought he had put together a pretty accurate account. Everyone had agreed that she had kicked the boy's body, after. Actually kicked him, like Boxey meant nothing, like he was just dirt to her. Lee's jaw clenched at the image it drew in his mind and the flames of the fire wavered as his vision blurred. Boxey wasn't just some hired scum, wasn't just a common assassin. He deserved some respect for everything he had done and been before that single afternoon – for the painting, for the hours spent finding and bringing back plants for their garden, for the way he watched Kara shyly with that sickening, longing puppy-love written all over his face.

Lee thought maybe Kara hated herself. He could understand that. He hated her a little bit too.

# # #

Twenty-three drinks in and she still hadn't forgotten. She couldn't stand and yet she could still see it all in front of her eyes, plain as day.

"Another." She was slurring and the glass in front of her divided into two glasses, then back into one again.

"You've had enough."

"Godsdamnit, I said I wanted another!" She roared and slammed her fist onto the bar top, the glass jumping off the bar with the force of her blow. They circled in front of her eyes, round and round – all the things she wanted to forget, floating in front of her. That moment when she had realised it was Boxey…

"Starbuck…" Joe sounded tired, concerned, and Starbuck didn't give a frak.

"I said I wanted another." Icy cold and quiet this time, every word enunciated with as much precision as her half-numbed tongue could manage.

"Starbuck…" Her hand shot out, reflexes still sharp, and seized Joe's wrist.

"Give me another godsdamned drink, Joe." And he did, muttering curses at her under his breath that rolled off her back like oil. She sipped at the vile brew Joe was serving tonight, barely tasting it now.

If Lee had just shut that frakking bitch Paulla up – Starbuck knew she must have had something to do with it. If Boxey had just listened to Starbuck when she'd told him so many frakking times that the whole godsdamned debate wasn't that important. If Lee had just stopped trying to be some holy frakking crusader.

Frak.

Her head felt extremely heavy all of a sudden and she had to brace herself against the bar with her hands, her stomach lurching disconcertingly. If Lee had just let the whole godsdamned issue end with Romo Lampkin's decision to keep the ships – he was the frakking President, it was his decision to make, godsdamnit.

"Starbuck?"

Her drink found its way to her mouth, Starbuck gulping down the liquid with abandon, near half of it dribbling down her chin as her lips refused to work properly. If Boxey had just…just…_not._ Just not done it. If he had just _thought_ for one frakking second.

"Starbuck are you okay?"

If she hadn't shot without thinking.

"Starbuck?"

She tried to say 'shut up, Joe', but it came out,

"Shup, Jho."

He had only been fifteen. He had his whole godsdamned life ahead of him, and she'd poured that life out onto the dirt. _She_ had. Two twitches of her godsdamned finger and Boxey was dead, his life soaking into the parched earth around him.

"Starbuck, give me the godsdamned drink." A hand – Joe's she assumed – grabbed at the half-full glass and she yanked it away, draining it in one gulp and smirking with spiteful triumph.

"Mo'." She held her glass out for another refill of the scorchingly strong liquor.

"No. I'm cutting you off, Starbuck."

"Fra – fraky', Jho." Her words came out all garbled and she blinked repeatedly but her vision wouldn't clear, Joe a blurred person-shape before her.

She could still see Boxey's body clearly though. On the dirt. So small. So vulnerable. Sprawled disjointedly, eyes filmed with dust and staring blankly at the sky. Not seeing the beautiful blue above him. Not seeing anything ever again.

"I – I…"

The room tilted alarmingly.

"For fraks sake Starbuck!" Joe's voice was so very angry, and so very far away.

The glass tumbled out of her nerveless fingers as she fell back, hitting the ground hard, legs tangled in the bar stool. She stared up at the ceiling; head tilted slightly to the side, lips parted and trying to move. Everything was swirling. She couldn't – couldn't see right. Couldn't _speak_. Couldn't _think_.

But she could still remember. Lee standing there in the cleared patch of forest, his eyes looking through Starbuck like she was nothing. Like she was a stranger. Lee staring at her with his features fixed in that horrible disbelieving expression, with Boxey's blood still on her hands. Murderer.

"I – I di'n't mean it." Shook her head.

"Di'n't mean it."

Joe's hands on her shoulders, shaking her gently. Her hand waved around weakly, batting at him, still staring up at the ceiling and not seeing it.

"Ge' 'way f'm me." Starbuck sputtered at Joe and then fell silent as memory flashed in technicolour clarity and Joe's blurry face faded away.

The feel of Boxey's body when she kicked him. The sound it had made. Gods, the sound. Why had she frakking done that? Why?

Starbuck flinched and wetness leaked from her eyes as the moment replayed viscerally in her head. The feel. The sound.

She rolled half onto her side and retched. Her stomach convulsed and the alcohol splattered the ground, even viler coming up than going down. Joe swore and jerked back from her and Starbuck wished she were dead. Wished she could sink into the ground, cease to exist.

"You're all right, Starbuck." Joe's tentative hand patting her shoulder with rough awkward comfort and she flailed at him. A godsdamned drunken, stinking mess flailing on the floor. What the frak had she come to?

She sobbed and retched, curling into a ball, memories still crystal clear even as everything else fragmented around her.

"I di'n't mean it!" She muttered absentmindedly as her stomach finished emptying itself, and tried to force herself upright with Joe's hand gripping her shoulder. Then everything whirled and went splotchy and darkened, and her head hit the dirt floor, hard.

She just wanted…

# # #

"I can't!"

"I believe in this, Helo. Not in…what Boxey did…but in the idea, the cause. The life. Do you understand that?" They kept their voices low so as not to wake Hera, fast asleep in her little nest of a bed in the corner.

Every night since the assassination attempt they had repeated this argument, and every night they went around and around in circles.

Helo shook his head, face pained.

"I can't. I can't side with a movement that sent a child out to kill someone who _I know_ is a good man. Even if the lifestyle has appeal." His godsdamned sense of justice. Athena stepped down from the doorway to Helo, standing in the moonlight with his mouth taut and regretful. Frak but he was gorgeous. She smiled at him softly, arms twining around his waist. He returned her soft expression, one large hand smoothing over her back. All she wore was a thin cotton dress and the night air was cold, Helo's hand warm.

"I guess…I guess it's not even so much the movement. It's that I don't want to leave here." Athena admitted, waving a hand around the two of them.

"This was meant to be our home, our fresh start." Her smile was a little bitter and cynical as she tilted her head back to meet Helo's eyes.

"A whole new life on Earth, wasn't that the plan?"

"Yeah." He rubbed her back soothingly. The cabin behind them – only two rooms, but it was theirs, they had built it. The garden beside the house, filled to bursting with lush edible plants. The creek gurgled and babbled over the round river stones nearby, and the view down to the plains where Helo had cleared the trees was bathed in silver. This was Athena's home now, more than anywhere had ever been – except Galactica. She didn't want to leave it. The baby kicked and she nudged back gently with the heel of her hand. This was a nice place to raise children. Not like the shantytown that was Landfall.

"This is our home, Helo." Her voice was little girl small. She felt his chest heave as he sighed.

"I don't want to leave it either."

"So let's not."

# # #

_Author's Note:_

So, the first part of Episode Two – I hope you enjoyed it!

And if you did enjoy it, just click on the little button below that says 'Review' and leave me one :)

The next chapter _should_ go up on Monday (NZ time).


	2. Part Two - Links in the Chain

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own BSG; I'm just playing the characters for my own profitless entertainment.

# # #

The cabin door was hooked wide open and Helo knocked on the doorframe politely, wiping perspiration from his brow, his skin glowing with warmth from both the brisk pace he'd kept up and the heat of the rising sun. He waited impatiently, and knocked again.

"Lee?" He stuck his head in the doorway and looked around the small home. The ex-Major, ex-pilot wasn't there, but the fire smouldered, banked up neatly, and a bark container suspended above the coals gave off the strong scent of pine needles. Lee wouldn't be far away or gone for long if he'd left the fire burning for tea to boil; leaving the fire lit unattended was a prime way to have your house burn down to cinders. A couple of colonists had left theirs alight while they were out setting traps, and had come back to find the place engulfed, with others fighting to keep the blaze from spreading to the forest around. Helo frowned and rubbed the back of his neck, squinted into the forest around. He'd just have to wait.

He didn't want to go in to the house – it seemed too intrusive. So Helo sat down on the doorstep and waited, shutting his eyes and soaking up the clear morning weather. He dozed for a few minutes, perhaps – he wasn't sure. He hadn't had much sleep the night before, talking with Sharon until late, and then Hera had woken them up at the crack of dawn. Helo was exhausted. He came to full awareness with a start as his ears picked up rustlings nearby, the sound of someone nearing the cabin through the thick undergrowth. Helo slid his hunting knife out of its sheath and rose to his feet. The local animals didn't usually come near people anymore, having learnt to fear them, but you could never be too careful.

It was Lee, and Helo sheathed his knife with an easy motion, lifting a hand in greeting. The shorter man was shirtless and his hair was wet and mussed, a towel slung round his shoulders – he must have been bathing in a stream. Thank the gods Lee was wearing his khaki trousers, protecting both his modesty and Helo's eyes.

"Helo!" Lee raised his hand, mirroring Helo's greeting gesture. He crossed the clearing and ushered Helo into the cabin, a smile wavering on his face. Helo couldn't help but notice the faded bruises mottling Lee's skin, and he winced in sympathy, wondering when he had collected them.

"It's good to see you. How's Athena? And Hera?" Lee indicated a stool and Helo sat awkwardly, watching Lee pull on a shirt and take the tea off the fireplace, pouring two cups and sweetening them both with a dollop of maple sap. Damnit. This wasn't meant to be a social call, but Helo didn't want to be rude with Lee's hollow eyes staring hopefully at him. He accepted the tea with muttered thanks.

"Athena and Hera are both fine." He said plainly, and silence dropped over the two men for a moment.

"I haven't seen you in a while." Lee commented at last and Helo shrugged.

"Things have been…eventful. Athena and I…well, we don't want to get mixed up in trouble, not with a child and a baby on the way."

"Eventful. Hah, that's one way to put it." Lee's fingers traced over his cheekbone unconsciously, the large mark that lingered there in shades of faint purple-green.

"Nasty bruises, there." Helo felt he had to say something to acknowledge Lee's battered state, and Lee grinned sardonically, an expression that didn't reach his eyes.

"Courtesy of Saul Tigh, for the most part, and a few enthusiastic supporters of Lampkin that had a little chat with me."

There was silence again.

"Sorry to hear that." Helo said at last, perched tensely on the wobbly stool and feeling incredibly awkward. This was not how he had envisioned this conversation going.

Lee tilted his head, eyed Helo carefully.

"You don't think I was involved, do you?"

Helo drew a slow breath.

"No."

"You don't sound so sure."

Helo put the cup of tea down untouched, leaned back a little on the stool and returned Lee's calculating gaze.

"I don't think you told Boxey to go and kill the President. I know you Lee, and I know you wouldn't promote assassination as a viable tool. But…" He shrugged helplessly, not knowing how to get his thoughts across without crushing Lee completely. The poor bastard already looked awful, and Helo had heard through the grapevine that Starbuck hadn't been near Lee since she had detained him and left him in the lock up. Lee's people were more swayed by Paulla's opinion than his it seemed, and on top of that, he'd obviously had the shit kicked out of him recently. Telling him what Helo really thought just seemed like kicking the man while he was done.

Lee straightened his spine and his eyes narrowed.

"But what?" There was a hard edge under his casual question.

Helo swore inwardly and bit his tongue, a furrow slicing between his eyebrows.

"But you were the one who founded this movement. The one who organised everyone, who brought people together and gave them the drive and passion to believe they could do something about the situation. To believe that they _had_ to do something about it."

"And? How is that a bad thing, Helo? I'm doing something here. I'm trying to achieve something I believe in, something I thought you and Athena believed in too. I know things are frakked up right now, but I can get them back on track. I can make things right again. I can." Lee raised his voice and his knuckles went white around his mug of tea. It sounded like Lee was trying to convince himself the truth of his words just as much as he was trying to convince Helo.

"A kid died, Lee. You can't make that frakking _right_."

"It wasn't my frakking fault!"

Helo pushed himself to his feet, itching with impatience and annoyance. Why couldn't Sharon have come to see Lee? Why did they decide to talk to him at all? Helo gave a mental snort at his questions; it had been his frakking idea. Do the honourable thing and tell Lee upfront that they couldn't support his political position anymore, give him some parting advice, maybe. Some personal support…Gods Helo didn't know _what_ he'd been frakking thinking.

"Maybe you didn't tell Boxey to go out there and do that, but you…you didn't stop it either. And you could have, at one point, if you'd just pulled your people into line. Your hands aren't totally clean in this mess, Lee." Helo lost it, snapping curtly, his concern for Lee's feelings falling by the wayside. Lee flinched and looked down at his hands, flexing them absentmindedly, as though he could see the blood on them if he looked hard enough.

Helo sighed.

"Godsdamnit, Lee, do I have to spell it out for you? You've created a frakking monster and now it's snapped the leash and gotten loose. You've lost control. A man nearly died, a child got killed! Shot dead in the frakking road, all because you can't control the flames you've happily fuelled up until now!" Helo gesticulated angrily, eyes darting over the inside of the small cabin, taking in its sparse furnishings and the little attempts at making it homey. Starbuck's touch showed, and the place seemed hollow without her presence. Lee seemed hollow without her there. It made Helo feel like shit. This wasn't what he'd wanted to do.

"I'm not going to have my family involved in the movement anymore. I can't. We wanted a new start on Earth, not more of the same rifts and mistrust and godsdamned violence." His voice softened at the last few sentences, feeling like a heartless bastard, as he finally looked at Lee who sat with head bowed, still staring at his hands where they lay palm up in his lap.

Helo groaned,

"Shit, Lee. I'm sorry…"

"It's fine."

"No it's not. That was out of line. I just… Frak it!" Helo mushed a hand over his face and took a deep calming breath. Trying to get back to the point.

"I only came here to tell you that we wouldn't be coming to the meetings anymore, because we don't want to be involved in…everything."

"Alright." Lee's face was utterly miserable, tone defeated.

"Athena wants to know if we can stay in the cabin, or if we should move into Landfall." Helo spoke quietly now, having retreated to the doorway, shifting awkwardly on his feet. Lee glanced up with confusion flickering on his weary features,

"Of course you can stay. It's your house, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but…is it okay to live in the community if we aren't involved? Like I said, lee – we don't want to get caught up in trouble."

"Stay. Please. I'll tell the others not to bother you." And then, under his breath,

"If they'll listen to me."

"I'm sorry, Lee. Athena and I, well, we both wish you the best, but…"

"Yeah."

"I'll see you 'round?" Helo hovered in the doorway, itching to get out of the oppressive atmosphere in the cabin and out into the fresh, clean air.

"Sure. Take care, Helo. My regards to Sharon." Lee managed in an apathetic monotone, looking down into his mug of tea with dull eyes. Helo had never seen someone look so completely, hopelessly miserable. He castigated himself for being so blunt, and for turning what should have been a courtesy call into a soul-crushing lecture, but it was too late for apologies and amends now – he just wanted to get the hell out of there.

Helo mumbled a polite reply and swiftly ducked out the cabin door, the sun hitting him with its glorious light, forcing him to squint as his eyes adjusted from the gloom of the cabin. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest as a warm breeze whispered across his face. No more worrying about Sharon being manipulated into activities of questionable legality. No more biting his tongue during meetings with Lee and his people. No more. Helo set off across the clearing and along the narrow trampled path through the undergrowth of the forest, eager to get away. Thank the gods that was over and done with.

# # #

"Frak!" The mug was flung with force, shattering against the log wall in an explosion of pottery and hot tea.

"Frakking bastard! Motherfrakker! Gods-frakking-damnit!" The table went over on its side, taking the second mug of tea with it and shaking the whole cabin with its fall. A stool was kicked roughly into a corner to a litany of curses. The bucket that served as a sink was upended, water splashing on the simple plank floor and seeping away through the cracks. And then the storm passed, and Lee was left standing in the middle of the room, chaos surrounding him, over-long hair flopping wetly in his eyes as he panted. He blinked away tears of anger and frustration, feeling drained and godsdamned hopeless. Frak he was an idiot.

He forced himself to be calm, and cool, and went around the cabin righting everything he'd displaced in his fit of anger. Both the mugs were broken into large shards, but everything else was fine. The table was set upright and the stools replaced at it, the dishes bucket put back on the wooden bench. He tidied up automatically, letting his mind go blank, his shoulders slowly uncoiling as the tension dissipated, his racing heart slowing to a steady thump.

Lee buried the shards of mug in a shallow grave by the corner of the cabin; it was the tidiest way to dispose of them, and besides it gave Lee a chance to work out the rest of his anger, hacking viciously at the soil. But once the anger had passed out of him completely, Lee wished for it back. With it gone, all he felt was a chill emptiness soaking throughout his chest and weighing down his limbs and mind, draining away the motivation he so desperately needed right now. He sat down at the table, head cradled in his hands, staring at the pattern of the wood grain wavering along the planks. His head felt like it was wrapped in a thick layer of wool, thoughts foggy and deadened. He swore at himself and jerked to his feet, taking the bucket he'd upended to the snowmelt stream, feet leading him unerringly to the clear, icy flow. He knelt on the soft muddy earth of the bank and splashed some water over his face, gasping at the shocking cold. It helped clear away the fog though, and he went over things with careful precision as he filled up the bucket and returned to his cabin.

So, he'd lost Helo and Athena's support. It was not unexpected; Helo had only ever been involved because Athena had been, and Lee could understand why they would want to withdraw now. They were moderates, and Lee's movement was quickly becoming a magnet for fanatics. No, he couldn't be angry with the Agathons for leaving. He could, however, be absolutely and utterly furious with himself for letting the situation escape his control to this extent. He needed to do something. What, he had no idea, but doing anything would be better than sitting lonely and depressed in his cabin, letting the days waste away while the world went to shit around him.

Paulla was the problem. Sowing discord amongst Lee's people, inciting them to take action that Lee, quite frankly, thought was despicable. He needed to go and make it very clear that he was still the one in command around here. Make a rousing speech, perhaps. Play off the uncertainty they all felt in the wake of Boxey's death. Tell Paulla in no uncertain terms that she needed to back the frak off. No master plan by any means, Lee thought wryly as he hung the bucket over the fire to boil, but better than sitting around crying into his godsdamned tea.

# # #

"I'll be fine, Nora. Thank you." Romo Lampkin smiled at the petite woman with the neat coil of long black hair, as he insisted he didn't need assistance.

"Are you sure, Mr President?" She hovered beside him as he buttoned his white dress shirt a grimace twisting his face that he hid by ducking his head well down. He really didn't want to stand up. Sitting was bad enough. But one had to keep up appearances.

"Quite sure. I have my cane, I believe I can manage." He told her smoothly, wiping the pained expression from his features as he looked up at her, and sliding on his dark glasses.

"Right." He said, preparing to stand. And yet he stayed seated.

"Right." Still sitting.

"Mr President? Do you need a bit of help?"

"Hmm." A long pause as he stared down at his feet, dangling over the edge of the high hospital bed.

"I believe perhaps I do, in fact." It cost Romo a little to admit that, determined as he was to put up a strong front. He couldn't have the dissident faction – or the Council – thinking he was weak. In this troubled time he could allow no cracks in his façade, if he wanted to stay in control. But stab wounds bloody well _hurt_. When Romo had last been injured, back on the Galactica, he had enjoyed the sweet relief of handfuls of lovely painkillers. Not so on Earth. Here he got to experience the full beauty of excruciating pain if he wanted his mind to remain clear and fully functional. Which was necessary, if he were to go back to work. Which, was something that he could no longer avoid, being as it had been six days since the assassination attempt and damage control was well overdue. But by the gods, it frakking hurt. Nora shot him an impatient, knowing look and linked her arm through his, her tone briskly sympathetic.

"Come on, the worst bit is getting up. Once you're on your feet, walk around for a moment, and the pain should drop right back."

"Indeed. I'm sure it will." Romo was wry, eyebrow raised, but he let Nora help him off the bed, hissing as his feet hit floor and he straightened up. Bloody frakking hell it was agony. He nearly sat back down but he knew if he did he wouldn't be able to make himself get up again. So he took the cane Nora offered and leaned heavily on it, controlling his breathing so it came slow and deep, instead of the shallow pants his tortured body wanted to make.

"Just walk around for a minute and you'll feel much better." Nora encouraged and he shot a dry glare at her, doubtful in the extreme. But three rounds of the tiny room and, surprisingly, the pain subsided to a dull ache. He wouldn't be running any races, but then he doubted he'd be called on to do that anytime soon anyway.

"Better?"

"Yes, actually. Thank you, Nora." The short woman blushed a little and bit her lip, as though Romo's thanking her was a great compliment. He supposed perhaps she thought it was, being as he was the President.

"You've been an incredible help to me over the past few days, and an excellent nurse. I've been very lucky to have you." Romo thanked the woman even more effusively; it was just good politics to butter people up whenever the chance arose. She was flustered, and he left her in her fluster, inclining his head and making his way out the door of the tiny room he had been laid up in for the past five nights and six days, cane thunking against the floor.

"Mr Lampkin." Doc Cottle was the only one who never called him by his official title. Romo thought that in the Doctor's mind, Laura Roslyn would always be the President, and Romo was, well, just Gaius Baltar's ex-lawyer. Not that Romo minded – it was refreshing to find someone who didn't stand on ceremony. He and Cottle weren't friends by any means – Romo didn't really have friends, unless you counted Jake – but they'd talked over drinks at Joe's before. At the moment, however, Cottle's voice was stern and accusatory. Frak. Romo turned slowly and was pinned by a severe glower.

"What are you doing out of bed, Mr Lampkin?"

"I can't delay things any longer, Doctor. I need to resume my duties as President."

"You're still recovering from an infection, not to mention the original injuries."

"I understand that. But I can't lie around in bed when there are things that need to be done, Doctor." Romo smiled slightly and placed both hands over the head of his cane.

"Sometimes a man must make sacrifices for his people, Doctor."

Doc Cottle scoffed at that and shook his head in disgust.

"If you say so, Mr Lampkin. I can't stop you, but if you collapse, don't expect any frakking sympathy from me."

"I would never do such a thing." Romo replied, a smile still playing round the corners of his lips.

"Ha." Cottle grunted, somehow instilling the sound with both contempt and amusement and dismissed Romo from his mind, turning to the next patient without so much as a nod goodbye.

The ex-pilot and current patrol officer, Hotdog, if Romo remembered correctly, was loitering outside the hospital, fiddling with a stuffed toy. Romo stopped and cleared his throat, and the young man looked up.

"Oh. Mr President. Um. How can I help?" The kid was confused, moving back from the hospital doorway, the stuffed rabbit squashed in his grasp so one glass eye bulged out at Romo, its muzzle crushed inward.

"Hotdog, I am I right?"

"Yeah." The kid shifted uncomfortably, tanned complexion looking almost sallow, eyes stained beneath with the purple of strain and exhaustion. Hotdog had a child, didn't he? Romo racked his brain, trying to think past the dull pain that radiated from within his abdomen. A little boy, with kidney problems. Nicky – that was it.

"How's Nicky?" Romo asked smoothly, with only a second's pause, and Hotdog's eyes widened a little with surprise that the President remembered his son's name. What people didn't realise was that being a lawyer involved the memorising of a vast number of common laws, or, if not the laws themselves, the reference books and pages upon which the relevant laws and clauses could be found in detail. Remembering people's names was a piece of cake, compared to remembering that the information pertaining to obtaining a mistrial in the case of the judge indicating any bias was contained in _Criminal Court Proceedings of the Twelve Colonies 6__th__ Edition_, chapter nine, pg 267, clause C 39.2. Gods, how Romo missed needing to remember that sort of thing, back before he had been unceremoniously thrust into the position of President – by none other than Lee Adama.

"-sick. But Doc Cottle says there's a good chance he'll be fine. He's sleeping at the moment. He gets very tired these days, poor little guy." Hotdog was saying and Romo blinked, pulling his thoughts back to reality. The pain was taking more of a toll on him than he thought. He needed to pull it together, quickly.

"Would you mind fetching Colonel Tigh for me, Hotdog? I believe he should be in the Council chambers." Although phrased as a query it was an order, and Hotdog recognised it as such, and out of habit saluted, thumping the toy bunny against his forehead. He flushed and grinned wryly,

"Of course, Mr President, sir." And took off at a jog. Good kid that one, loyal, unquestioning. Romo hoped his son recovered. He leant against the side of the hospital to stay upright, swallowing hard and trying to ignore the tearing, aching pain pulsating from his wounds.

# # #

"All right. Listen up you frakkers!" Lee strode into the middle of the communal cabin that served as a gathering place for his faction, glaring around the room. He noticed with satisfaction that Paulla was there. Good. His gaze slipped over the other people; the core of the more militant off-split from the movement. A few Twos, Jeanne and her son – they went everywhere Paulla did – and a human colonist Lee hadn't known before landfall on Earth, who went by the name of Kessler. Lee thought 'went by', as Kessler didn't seem like the type of man who slung his real name about. Shifty eyes, unshaven face, a pair of wicked-sharp hook-pointed hunting knives on each hip. They all stared at Lee, a vicious smile flickering at Paulla's lips as she eyed him up and down indolently. His abrupt entrance had shut down the conversation that had been taking place, and Lee stepped forward a few paces so he stood at the end of the long narrow cabin, and crossed his arms, feet shoulder-width apart.

"Boxey is dead." He started with, and saw that only Jeanne flinched at those blunt words.

"The President was almost killed."

"Frakkin' too bad Boxey di'n't do th' job proper 'fore he got hisself kilt." Kessler muttered to himself and Lee tensed his jaw, monumentally irritated.

"Shut the frak up, Kessler. If the President had been killed, you know what would have happened? We'd have been frakked." He tilted his head, staring down everyone present and letting them see his disbelief and annoyance at their stupidity.

"We're the minority here. Minority in numbers, weapons, supplies – everything. If the majority doesn't want to listen to us, they don't have to – sure, we can kill a few people, but we can't kill everyone. And every person that dies is just another reason for the majority to dig their heels in, to disregard our opinion." He laughed shortly and without humour.

"You think you were so frakking clever. You think you achieved something, made a statement. Well the only statement you made is that we're so frakking stupid we sabotage our own goals!" His voice rose to a near-shout and Jeanne cuddled her son closer, shrinking into herself. The others listened quietly, and Lee could see the Twos, at least, were thinking his words over.

"I've told you so many times, the only way we're going to change things is if we change peoples' minds! We can't force them to do as we want! We don't have the manpower to enact it or sustain it!" Lee was speaking quieter again, but his words were filled with icy, ferocious emphasis, letting some good old righteous fury fill him up. Gods, it felt good.

"You need to listen to me. I can fix this. I can make it clear that what Boxey did, he did on his own, as a confused, impulsive kid. That we weren't involved – that Romo Lampkin can still engage with us in good faith."

"Hah. Good faith. It's Lampkin who's not engaging in good faith." Paulla's mouth twisted the last four words, mimicking Lee in a mockery.

"So you think. But I'm telling you all, violence isn't going to help the cause. Violence isn't the godsdamned answer. I know it's frustrating, I know there don't seem to be any results, but the only way to achieve what we want is to convince people – with words – that we're right." He fell silent, nothing else left to say.

"We'll think about it." Leon – Lee thought it was Leon, anyway – said neutrally. Lee didn't say anything in reply, just nodded slightly and strode out of the cabin as abruptly as he had entered it.

Well. That was the first step. Hopefully more desperate measures would not need to be considered.

# # #

"Ohhhhh. My frakking _head_." And as if triggered by her voice,

"A baker's dozen, a dozen bakers minus one add the one and the three and you get…. Ah – Ah – Ah… Systems normal. Systems normal. Systems normal."

Starbuck blinked as Sam's monotone cut through her killer hangover and made her brain cringe inside her constricting skull.

"Oh gods." She wriggled face down on the pallet that had served as her bed for the past five nights and clasped her hands over her head, burying it in the thin mattress.

"Oh, just kill me now. I can't bear this." Starbuck whinged to herself, making a complaining mewling sound, quietly, to keep her throbbing head intact.

"Bear. Bear – An' then they did come, to find a settling place of their own, twelve globes within the black, each ripe and ready to bear children upon them. End of line."

"Shut _up_, Sam." Starbuck groaned, thumping the side of the hybrid tank with one fist. In the last several days she had become strangely comfortable in just being normal around her comatose, nonsense-spewing Cylon husband. But right now she just wanted peace and quiet, so her head could perhaps _not_ explode. She lay there for a moment, Sam thankfully falling silent, and tried to remember last night.

Oh gods.

Starbuck remembered going to Joe's bar for the fifth night in a row, and getting frakked off her face, remembered getting mouthy at Joe… Oh frak. She remembered being so frakking drunk she'd fallen off her stool and puked all over the floor…and then…nothing. The next thing she remembered was waking up here with a mouth so dry it felt like the desert and tasted like vomit to boot, and a head that was pounding in time with her pulse. Shit. She must have passed out. Starbuck groaned into the mattress and pleaded with the universe to just let her sink into the floor, or pass out again. Anything to spare her the embarrassment of knowing that someone – most likely Joe – had taken pity on her and dragged her drunken form back here and tucked her into bed. Gods how she wished she remembered what had happened, so she could apologise or avoid the appropriate people. Oh, wait…

"Shit!" Starbuck scrambled to check her body under the thin blanket and was incredibly relieved to find herself wearing all of her clothing, minus her boots and socks. Well. That was something at least.

"Shit. Shit… Finding… Then the shite of the oxen and other beasts was smeared upon their flesh–"

"Urgggh. Shut _up_, Sam!" Starbuck ripped the blanket up over her head and decided to just stay there for a while. At least until her brain stopped trying to claw its way out of her head.

# # #

_Author's Note:_

Feedback is appreciated, adored and (breathlessly) anticipated.

I'm especially interested in knowing whether or not the characters seem, well, in character; I want to show character development, growth and change through how they cope badly or well with the situations and interactions they are placed in – _but_ I don't want to end up with characters that have little to no resemblance to who they were on the show. So if you think characters are acting too much OOC, or conversely, are being portrayed well, please comment and let me know :)

Lee especially, is undergoing much strain in this episode, and _events_, both past and present, are going to put a lot of pressure on him…

The next chapter should be up on Friday (NZ time).

Thanks for reading!


	3. Part Three - Human Connection

Insert Standard Disclaimer here

_Author's Note: _A huge _thank you_ to everyone who has read, favourited or followed this story, and especially to those who have reviewed – you guys are the best! We're halfway through Episode Two now, and events are beginning to unfold…

Enjoy!

# # #

It had been a long dry walk into Landfall, and by the time they reached the bounds of the settlement Caprica's feet were killing her, her swollen ankles protesting with every plodding step, her throat parched. Her back kept aching, and her belly felt extra heavy today. She clutched Gaius' arm and squared her shoulders, forcing herself to keep going.

"Do you want to stop?" Gaius slowed his pace even more and looked up at her and she smiled and shook her head.

"No. We're nearly there." She insisted, continuing her slow, waddling walk. Pregnancy was so undignified. The things it did to your body – none of it was particularly comfortable. Caprica couldn't wait for it to be over, to finally have the reward for these long heavy months clutched tight in her arms. She was sick of being enormous and clumsy on her feet, restricted in what she could do and stuck in men's clothes; the only things that would fit her now. There was no handy maternity wear speciality on Earth, unfortunately. Although she hoped that when they got to Landfall the one clothing and general goods store, Trader's, would have some things. She needed baby clothes and things that would fit her after she lost the enormous belly.

"Gaius, can we have a hand back here?" Selah yelled from behind them, and he shot Caprica an apologetic glance.

"I should…"

"Go. I'm fine, really, Gaius." Caprica told him and released his arm.

Tycho and Selah were a married couple – civilians – who worked the farm with Gaius. They were currently lagging behind Gaius and Caprica, pushing along the cart that was piled high with their latest vegetable crop, beautifully tanned skins, and dozens of jars of brambleberry jam, and bottles of spiced maple sap and sweetened date palm wine that Caprica had learnt how to make. Domesticity had not come naturally to her, but her attempts had turned out nicely. Hopefully their goods would be enough to trade for supplies to see them through the next few months.

She stopped and pushed her hands into the small of her back, stretching with a sigh as she waited for the others to catch up. It just wouldn't stop aching today. Tycho was by her side a moment later, linking his arm through hers.

"How are you holding up?" The tall man asked solicitously and Caprica smiled easily at him. It was strange to be so accepted by humans, to feel welcome and normal and cared for. It had…changed her. She hadn't meant to change; it had snuck up on her, a gradual alteration that she was oddly aware of.

"I'm tired, but I'll make it in."

"You can ride back in the cart, perhaps." Tycho grinned at the thought of the dignified Cylon woman riding atop a cart piled with their supplies and nudged Caprica gently. She actually seriously considered it; that was how bad things were. She was genuinely willing to be carted along like a piece of furniture or pile of skins. God.

"I'll think about it." Caprica said primly and Tycho laughed, long and loud.

"Come on, we're almost there. Then you can have a nice long sit down at the hospital while you wait for Doctor Cottle to see you."

"Mm." Caprica kept her eyes on the road, concentrating on putting one foot down in front of the other. As they began passing the buildings of the settlement itself she glanced back at the two men pushing the cart – both lean and slight, Selah and Gaius looked like they shouldn't be able to manage the cumbersome burden. They were red-faced and almost dripping sweat, but the cart kept bumping along the road. Caprica reminded herself to make Gaius go for a swim in the stream before he came near her. All that sweat was disgusting.

They passed Joe's Bar and Trader's, and The Council building, and stopped in the centre of Landfall.

"Tycho, Selah – can you go and trade this with 'Dite, while Caprica and I go to the hospital?"

"Sure thing." Tycho patted Caprica's wrist and let her go, taking Gaius' place at the cart.

"We'll take a few jars of the spiced maple sap to Joe's, if that's alright? Trade them for drinks for the afternoon?"

"Yes. Of course." Gaius nodded vigorously, his eyes on Caprica's belly, his mind obviously already distracted by the impending check up. Caprica tuned out as the men confirmed the details of what they needed to get by way of supplies, her mind on her own plans and the nagging pain in her lower back. She had already told them to keep some credit at Aphrodite's for her to go by and purchase some things herself, and given Gaius a list of the other supplies she thought they would need in the coming months. She tried unsuccessfully to rub the aches out of her back and gazed about the town, the central intersection they stood in as busy as Landfall ever seemed to get. People coming in to trade, like them, people working in their gardens, the occasional patrol going briskly past; just a general quiet bustle.

Caprica's pained expression disappeared and became a cool calm veneer and her hands dropped to her sides as Sharon Agathon and her husband approached, Hera seated atop her father's shoulders. Hera. She was getting big, curly dark hair wild and tangling down well past her small shoulders. A bright eyed, solemn little thing. Caprica remembered with perfect clarity how sure she had been that the little girl would be hers and Gaius'. How much she had wanted that adopted parenthood. Apparently, prophecy was not set in stone. People could still make choices to alter their destiny, or so it seemed.

Gaius insisted it was all rubbish, and that the prophecy had been no more than a strange shared delusion, or a Cylon projection. When Caprica had pointed out that Cylons could only project to other Cylons, which didn't explain Laura Roslyn sharing it, Gaius had gotten a strange look in his eyes and said that perhaps Roslyn had, unknowingly, had a chip implanted in her head which allowed her to receive projections. Caprica didn't know where he got that idea. Sometimes Gaius was a mystery to her. Although, these days, she felt like she understood him more and more. Her gaze slid from the Agathon family to Gaius, gesticulating animatedly as he, Tycho and Selah bickered over the tactics of how to get the best value out of their goods. She smiled fondly at him, feeling warmth in her chest that, for once, wasn't caused by heartburn.

The Agathons were heading directly past Caprica and the other three, and she knew she was going to have to make some acknowledgement. It wasn't that she disliked them, they were just a reminder of a less than pleasant past, which these days, she tried not to think about. She saw Sharon's dark eyes narrow and her plump mouth thin out, but they slowed and stopped as they reached Caprica.

"Sharon, Helo." Caprica greeted them coolly, and then smiled wide and genuine.

"Hera. My goodness, aren't you getting to be a big girl?" Hera stared at her silently for a second, and then beamed suddenly at Caprica.

"I'm going to be a big sister." Hera confided gravely.

"Really? Are you excited?" It felt a little odd to be addressing the girl just above Helo's head, the man looking extremely uncomfortable as he stared at the dirt street.

"Uh huh. Mummy says I'm going to be her big helper."

"I'm sure you will be." Caprica said in the bright and encouraging tone of voice she had learnt one used with small children, and turned to Sharon.

"Hello, Caprica."

"Sharon." Caprica bit her lip and Sharon looked at the ground. The baby kicked Caprica right in the bladder and she grimaced, rubbed her rounded abdomen. There was a long and awkward silence, the only one unaffected being Hera, who pulled at her daddy's hair happily and dug her heels into his chest.

"Horsie, daddy, horsie!" She demanded to Helo's obvious chagrin.

"How long until…?" Sharon finally said, indicating Caprica's stomach. A polite inquiry.

"Another week, at most."

"Wow. Well, um, good luck."

"You too. How long have you got to go?"

"Three months, Doc Cottle says." Sharon's face softened a little at the question and she also rubbed her belly; the two women mirroring each other's posture. Caprica felt like she should say something friendly, but she wasn't quite sure what. Interacting with Sharon was unsettling. It reminded her of who she had been, and she wasn't that person anymore, not really. She didn't know how to react, or what to say.

"You can have my baby clothes, if you like, once our baby's outgrown them." It was a desperate attempt to make some kind of connection, to break the awkwardness that stretched between them. She felt stupid offering, but to Caprica's surprise Sharon smiled slightly, even that small change in expression lighting up her face.

"I'd appreciate that. Thanks."

There was silence for a moment, and Caprica returned unconsciously to kneading at the small of her back.

"Well, um, we better go…" Sharon said hesitantly and Caprica nodded, half-relieved.

"Of course. Take –" She broke off and gasped as all of a sudden she felt the strangest sensation, and then liquid ran down the insides of her legs to soak into the dusty ground. Too much. Caprica panicked – her first thought that it was blood, the miscarriage she had suffered foremost in her mind.

"Gaius! Gaius!" Caprica began trembling uncontrollably, her skin flushed hot with fear and shock. Her back pains kicked up a notch and she clutched her belly as the muscles tautened. Gaius looked up immediately, hearing the fear in her voice.

"Gaius – the baby!"

And then a warm hand enclosed Caprica's wrist and she jerked away from it automatically, looking up and meeting Sharon's dark eyes.

"It's fine, Caprica, really. It's just – your waters have broken." Caprica stared at Sharon uncomprehendingly, too panicked to take in what the other Cylon was saying as Gaius rushed to her side and wrapped his arm around her, both of them staring blankly at Sharon.

"You're going into labour." Sharon explained slowly, a smile quirking her mouth. Caprica felt most – most – of the fear drain from her body, and she glanced at Gaius, just in time to see him turn ashen with apparent terror. Even his lips paled, his eyes starting out of his head as he gazed fixatedly at Caprica's belly and whispered hoarsely,

"Oh my gods."

Sharon laughed at him.

# # #

"The President is so nice. He thanked me beautifully, and I was just doing my job. Poor man, he looked in such a lot of pain when he…" Salty gazed at Nora contentedly, letting her excited chatter just wash over him. He loved spending time with her, but sometimes she went off on these long tangents that really didn't interest him in the slightest, and come on, he couldn't help tuning out. She looked nice, today, even in her work clothes; a utilitarian button-down shirt with the top three undone and loose trousers. Her long dark hair was twisted back into a bun, exposing her slim neck and the delicate shells of her ears and the way the left one pointed a bit at the tip like a pixie's. Bright green eyes sparkled at him as she rambled on animatedly, and her lips looked plump and kissable as they moved.

"Hmm?" Salty refocused abruptly on what Nora was saying as she poked him under the table with her foot.

"You weren't even listening, were you?"

"I'm sorry. I'm tired." He pleaded, and it was true. He'd had morning patrol – four am to midday, and he was ready to go and collapse into bed, not make small talk over lunch. He'd only met Nora at Joe's on her break because their shifts hadn't synced up lately, and if he hadn't seen her today he probably wouldn't have a chance for another several days.

"I forgot. Sorry, Leo. And I guess my work isn't really that interesting, is it?" Nora sighed and slumped a little in her chair, sipping at her juice.

"Not really, to be honest." Salty replied apologetically, and she tipped her head and smiled wryly at his candour, her leg rubbing against his under the table.

"Fair enough." She lapsed into silence, the pair of them idly playing footsy under the table. It was nice just being around Nora. She was very calming. Plus, she smelt delicious, a wafting scent that was noticeable even above the alcohol and smoke odours that filled Joe's bar. Gods he wanted to frak her. Almost a month they'd been seeing each other, and they still hadn't bounced the bedsprings. Maybe…

"I got you something." He said suddenly and fumbled in his pocket for the carving he'd won from Tammy the day of the assassination.

"You did?" Nora sat up and forward, breasts pressing against the edge of the table and stretching the shirt further open, drawing Salty's eye inexorably. Oh gods, he was a sad and desperate man if the barest hint of cleavage could get him this ready to go. He gave himself a mental slap and pulled out the gift, wrapped in a sheet of homemade paper; thick, with the vague imprints of leaves still lingering. She unwrapped it carefully, folding the paper up and placing it to the side, gasping as she revealed the dark woodcarving. Salty grinned smugly to himself – she seemed pleased with the gift, slim fingers tracing over the detailed work on the globe of the Earth.

"It's got the continents and everything. It's gorgeous."

"I didn't make it myself." Salty jumped in to assure her, before she got the wrong idea and praised his workmanship and made him feel like an idiot when he belatedly explained.

"I'd cut my thumb off if I tried to make a block of wood into something pretty. But…" He shrugged self-deprecatingly,

"Well, I just thought you might like it."

"It's beautiful, Leo. Thank you." Nora leaned over the table and her floral scent wafted over Salty, mixed with the faintest hint of antiseptic cream. And then her lips hit his and his hand slid to cup the nape of her neck, their mouths moving together, her tongue barely flicking against his. Gods she tasted good. Soft and hot and wet, and frak he wanted to screw her so badly. Then Nora withdrew and sat sown with a smirk and Salty shifted in his seat, rearranging himself as discreetly as possible. She smiled to herself, giggled, smiled again.

"What?"

"I've got half an hour left on my lunchbreak…?"

His ears pricked up. Was she saying what he thought she was? If so… Half an hour, yeah, that was enough time if they hurried.

"Who knows when we'll get a chance again…" She continued, grinning slyly.

"Your place or mine?" Salty didn't hesitate, and Nora giggled at him.

"Mine." She answered. She stood up and collected the carving and the paper he'd used to wrap it, and held her hand out to him. Salty took it, heart skipping with expectation, and half-dragged her out of the bar.

# # #

Starbuck was jostled out of the bar's doorway by Salty and a woman he seemed very attached to, the pair of them pressed together and holding hands, grinning like a couple of kids. She knew what they were going to go get up to, Starbuck thought with a smirk. Good on Salty. They didn't even notice her as they hurried past, too lost in what was, no doubt, anticipation. Gods, that was one thing she missed. Confused as Starbuck might be about Lee, she couldn't deny that he was brilliant at frakking. She sighed and raked her fingers through her hair, straggling blonde and limp just past her shoulders, half-heartedly trying not to look like death warmed up. A few of the regulars gave her sidelong looks as she walked into the dimly lit bar, whispering to each other. Starbuck cringed inwardly, but lifted her chin and strode up to the bar. So what if they saw her getting fall-down, blackout drunk? It was hardly the first time she had gotten so frakked she'd embarrassed herself. It happened, from time to time. She sure as hell wasn't going to be ashamed about it. Or, if she was, she wasn't going to show it.

Joe was wiping down the bar with a rag, and glanced up at Starbuck as she approached, before turning his eyes back to his task.

"I'm not serving you this early, Starbuck. You wanna drink, you'll have to get it elsewhere." He said before she could say a word, scrubbing the damp rag industriously over the alcohol spills on the bar. Starbuck went hot and spots of red appeared high on her cheekbones.

"I wasn't looking for a drink, Joe." She replied, an edge to her voice.

"Good, 'cause I ain't giving you one." Joe shot back without bothering to look up, hand still moving the rag in vigorous circles. Starbuck clenched her fists, pissed off now but biting it back.

"I just came back to say thanks for getting me home last night." She looked down at her boots, steeling herself for the next bit, which came out in a rush,

"And sorry I puked on your floor."

Joe grinned and chuckled, looked up at her at last.

"Yeah, thanks for that. It was a real frakking mess." He shrugged,

"Part of the job though. Drunk people throw up. It happens."

"Yeah…anyway, thanks and sorry." She turned on her heel, cheeks still burning. Joe's voice stopped her in her tracks,

"Wasn't me who got you home though." Starbuck cocked her head to the side, automatically assembling and skimming through a list of names in her head. Anyone but Tigh, dear gods, anyone but Tigh. He'd hold it over her head for months. She spun around.

"Who?"

"Hoshi, would ya believe it? After you put him in the hospital that last time and all. I wasn't too sure about it – didn't want him dragging you off somewhere quiet and beating the shit out of you in revenge," Joe chuckled entirely inappropriately and Starbuck stifled a few choice words,

"But he assured me he'd get you home safe, and Hoshi's a man of his word." He grinned at her, flipping the wet rag over his shoulder,

"And he obviously did, so all's well that ends well."

"Yeah…" Starbuck answered absently, brow scrunched with a thoughtful frown.

"Thanks, Joe." She flapped a hand at him and wandered back out of the bar. Now what in the hell was Louis Hoshi doing? Starbuck was at a total frakking loss. Why would _Louis Hoshi_ of all people decide to drag her drunken ass safely home?

# # #

Romo stretched his legs out with a sigh. It was the first time he'd sat down in nearly an hour. Nora Oriana, the frighteningly efficient nurse had been right – walking helped ease the pain, oddly enough. It seemed to loosen up all the muscles and ease out the kinks. He had been walking circles inside his little pavilion until Jake looked at him like he'd been touched by the sun. It felt good to sit down again. He hadn't been to see the Council yet. The next official meeting wasn't for another week and a couple of days, but Romo had mounds of paperwork to get through between now and then. Saul Tigh had dealt with the more minor issues, apparently, but anything he hadn't been sure about he had left for Romo to look over. And it looked like there was a bloody lot Tigh hadn't been sure about. Ah well, paperwork and plotting until the next Council meeting. Maybe see a few Council members before the meeting came around and assure them that Romo Lampkin was back on the job, fit and able. It would be either warning or reassurance, depending on whom he was talking to. Not all of the Council was corrupt, but a fair few of them were. IT was the way humans – and Cylons by all appearances – worked.

Romo glanced at his watch, sipped at his tea. Fiddled with a native leaf cigarette, but didn't light it yet. He had sent a runner out to find Starbuck not that long ago, and he was expecting her here any minute. He knew full well she wasn't going to be all the way out at her and Lee's cabin – he had heard her through the wall at the hospital. She had all but moved in with her comatose Cylon husband. Romo had spent much of the past five nights remorselessly eavesdropping on her – mostly drunken – confessions to Samuel Anders, and he knew precisely how Kara Thrace was feeling. Romo tucked his tongue into his cheek and sucked on it thoughtfully. Poor Lee, that would have been a blow, Starbuck up and disappearing like that. Romo put aside his friendly inclinations toward Lee Adama and wondered what would be more useful to him – Lee in love, or Lee bereft? And what would be best for Starbuck? He couldn't have her falling apart on him, and besides – he liked the young woman. He wanted to see her happy. On the right path. Which was precisely why he had ordered her in to see him.

And right on cue, the gauzy material of the tent was swished aside, and Kara Thrace ducked into the cool shaded area.

"Kara Thrace. I see you have recovered from your late night…indulgences." Romo twirled the cigarette in his fingers and peered at the woman over his glasses. Her lips flattened out, eyes sparking with predictable anger. Then her face relaxed with visible effort as he watched, and she laughed shortly.

"How in the hell does gossip travel so fast?"

"People enjoy dwelling on the foibles and misfortunes of others, Starbuck. It makes them feel better about themselves. 'Look at me, I may be a poor, useless bastard, but at least I didn't get so frakked I threw up everywhere and passed out.' Good for their self-esteem." He nudged his dark glasses back up his nose.

"Not so good for yours, though, I wager."

"I don't give a frak what they think, sir." She swaggered forward and spun the chair in front of Romo's desk around, sat astraddle it. Romo smiled mildly. He knew Starbuck. He had her all figured out. Knew what made her mind tick over, how to provoke certain responses. Or at least, he thought he did. Time to test that assumption out?

"Of course not." Romo answered her noncommittally, that mild smile still just touching his lips and, he knew, pissing her right the frak off. She shook her hair back off her face and leaned forward, forearms lying along the chair back.

"So why'd you want to see me, Mr President?" Always instilling the faintest bit of flippant disrespect into his official title. Romo wasn't offended – Starbuck did that with everyone. He didn't _believe_ she had with William Adama, but Romo couldn't quite remember how she had addressed the absent Admiral.

"I need you back in the game, Starbuck." He said, examining her face. Frak, she looked bloody terrible. Haggard and wan, her hair hanging lank and her fingers fidgeting nervously with the corners of the chair back. She stared at him for a silent moment.

"I…"

"You've spent enough time marinading in ethanol, Starbuck. And if you've quite finished your nights of self-flagellation –"

"What the frak! I don't see how th–"

"Chastising yourself, Kara. Wallowing in guilt." Romo held in a chuckle and Starbuck sank back, embarrassed.

"Oh. Right. Yeah." Then frowned at him, drawing a veil of impassiveness across her face,

"I haven't been wallowing in anything, sir. And I resent the implication."

"Oh, really? So you _haven't_ been wracked with guilt over your neutralisation of the young, ah, attempted assassin?" Romo goaded her with his tone, eyes narrowed behind his dark glasses, invisible to the ex-pilot.

"I don't see why my personal feelings are relevant."

"They are when they impact on your performance at work. Or, rather, your extended absence from work." Romo leant forward over his desk, ignoring the digs of pain in his abdomen as he moved.

"You've had five days off now, Kara. I need you back, with your head in the game. You're one of my best people."

He made an admission of dependence, always a good way to gain someone's favour,

"I rely on you."

"I appreciate that, sir." She didn't mention coming back to work though, and Romo kept talking, kept pushing the issue despite the obvious discomfort it caused her.

"I need you by my side. I can't trust that the dissident faction isn't going to make another attempt on my life. And if it hadn't been for your presence, I would have been killed. I need someone I trust to have my back, and that's you, Starbuck."

"I understand that, sir." She rubbed a hand over her chin, squeezed her eyes shut for a second, before meeting his glasses-shaded gaze.

"Tomorrow? I feel like hell today. Wouldn't be much use to you to be honest."

"Tomorrow then." Romo leant back again and stifled a wince, finally lighting his cigarette, taking a light draw.

"But – what I do on my own time is my business. If I want to go to Joe's and get shit-faced every night, that's up to me. And it's none of your frakking business, _Mr President_. Now, may I go?"

Romo shook his head no, sucking on the corner of his lip, reading her tense demeanour and fidgeting fingers. She was itching to get the frak out of here.

"That's not good enough, Kara." She flinched every time Romo used her first name, a pained expression crossing her face. She didn't like the familiarity. Just like Tigh. Those two were more similar than they would ever like to think.

"I said I need your head back in the game. I can't have you just going through the motions when I'm relying on you to keep me from getting attacked. I did not enjoy the experience, and I do _not_ want it to happen again." Smoke wisped from his lips as he paused.

"I don't want you choking out there, because you're upset about taking out the kid." He was deliberately callous and Starbuck went pale then flushed red.

"He was my…friend. I knew him. I'm entitled to be frakking upset, Mr President, _sir_."

"Be that as it may, and my condolences for your loss, but the young man tried to murder me. My finer feelings don't stretch so far as to make me feel bad about his death." Romo's voice carried enough edge to slice through steel.

"Quite frankly, I'm extremely grateful to you for both stopping him from completing his assassination attempt, and for killing him in the process. A lengthy trial would have been…inconvenient. A young man, led astray…yes, he would have garnered sympathy." Romo tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette, undaunted by Starbuck's furious expression.

"I know I would have been able to get him off lightly, if I were in the position to defend him."

"And you're telling me this _why_?" A near-snarl, her hands clamped into fists. Romo shrugged loosely, dragging on his cigarette again, casual, relaxed.

"Because, Starbuck, you seem to be forgetting exactly why you had to shoot the boy. You were doing your job. You saved my life, and I am exceedingly thankful for that. And he, Boxey, was trying to murder me. Committing a crime. I know that it's easy to sink yourself into guilt and self-flagellation, but it's unnecessary, and a marked hindrance to your continued functionality."

She actually seemed to consider his words for a moment, and Romo wondered if he was getting through to her. Her hands relaxed from white-knuckled fists, returning to fiddling with the chair back. He probed further,

"Is this what you thought life would be for you on Earth? Did you envision a wonderful future where shooting an assassin drove you into alcoholism and uselessness?"

"Oh come _on, _it's only been a few frakking days. Hardly a Tigh-sized career of _alcoholism_." She protested vigorously and Romo shrugged, palms up in the air.

"It's a road you could very well head down, if you don't decide to change things, Kara. You had to do something that…grieved you. I can understand that. Sympathise. But it's done now – and you can't change that. Nor can you change the ripples it has sent out. Every action has a reaction, every decision carries unavoidable consequences. Is this what you wanted, Starbuck? Is this what you want your life to be?"

Starbuck opened her mouth to reply and Romo cut her off by lifting his hand,

"It's just a bit of…friendly advice. Think about what I've said. About choices and consequences, and whether the road you're travelling down is the one you wanted." He told her, shifted in his seat, wincing. They both knew damn well it wasn't just friendly advice.

"I recommend you think about it all very carefully, if you want to remain in your current position, working for me. And then, I assume I'll see you bright and early tomorrow. Correct?"

"Correct." Starbuck echoed, eyes full of thoughts as she uncoiled herself from the chair and spun it on one leg to its previous position in front of the desk.

"I'll take what you've said under advisement." Was all she would commit to, and she didn't look happy as she stalked out of the tent.

Romo sighed, mulling things over, Jake finally waking from a doze and nuzzling his head onto the President's lap, begging for treats.

"Was I too harsh? Too nosey?"

Jake yawned.

"Too…vague? What do you think, Jake?"

Jake yipped and closed his teeth gently over Romo's hand.

"Oh all right, I'll see if I've got any jerky around here."

# # #

_Author's Note:_

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and if you did, well, you know the drill – please review :)

Coming up on Monday, NZ time…

_Part Four – Shapes in the Water_ – there will be drama, angst, violence and…sexual content! *gasp*

_Shapes in the Water_ will have one M-rated segment –the sex – but due in part to changes in the narrative's tense during the sex scene (which hopefully should help in conveying the *ahem* _atmosphere_ of the scene to my satisfaction, while still staying within 's M-rating), the M-rated portion will be contained within ellipses, so easy to skip.


	4. Part Four - Shapes in the Water

_Disclaimer: I do not own Battlestar Galactica, or any of the characters, much as I would love to._Author's Note:

Thank you for the reviews! They mean so much to me, and I 3 you all!

Several paragraphs of this chapter are _M-Rated_ and contained within the ellipses '…' for sexual content. This part can be skipped without losing any grasp of the plot if sexing is not your thing. I hope the sex scene turns out all right – TBH I'm not used to writing a sex scene that isn't ultra-pornographic, realistic, and shorter than 1000 words, so working within Fanfiction's guidelines has been…different for me. It's rather hard to convey the sexiness while hamstrung on how much detail you can put in. Feedback on this in particular is much appreciated.

Enjoy!

# # #

It was kind of funny. Athena had hated – actually _hated_ – the woman for so long. Convinced that Caprica Six was going to try and take Hera away from her. Gods, it had all been so muddled and confusing. Thinking Hera had died – and that was possibly the worst time in her life. No, definitely the worst. Then Caprica helping Athena to rescue Hera – more confusion. Then still being convinced that a Six – possibly Caprica – was going to take Hera away. Shooting the Six, Natalie because of that fear. Only to discover that the prophecy had changed, or something, and Caprica and Gaius had kept Hera safe, were bringing her to safety, not taking her away. Athena didn't know how to feel about the Cylon woman, and had avoided her because of that. Being around her brought up too many…bad and confusing feelings. And now…gods, the universe had a sense of humour.

"It's going to be fine." Holding Caprica's arm, Athena and Gaius flanking the woman, whose labour pains had come on strong after her waters had broken. Athena didn't know an awful lot about labour, but she got the impression Caprica's was not going to be a long one.

"God it frakking hurts!" Caprica sounded comically offended by the fact that labour involved pain. Athena bit her lip and stifled a laugh.

"It's not going to last forever. You can get through this."

"How far away _is_ this frakking hospital?" Gaius Baltar was white-lipped and so nervous it seemed like he was going to vibrate out of his skin. It was his sheer terror that had made Athena feel like she should help Caprica get to the hospital – Gaius wasn't in a fit state to do any thinking. He was in worse shape than Caprica. Kind of funny, yeah.

"Calm down for frak's sake. Anyone would think you were the one in labour, here." Athena winced as Caprica grabbed at Athena's hand, a contraction seizing her. Athena waited until the pains appeared to have passed, and then smiled encouragingly at Caprica, previous awkwardness forgotten in the moment.

"Come on, we're nearly there. Just a little further."

# # #

"Choices. Hah! Frakking _consequences_. Godsdamned know-it-all heartless _bastard_." Starbuck grumbled as her feet led her onwards and upwards. And yet, as always, the heartless bastard was kind of right. Much as she hated to admit it. Starbuck growled under her breath and kicked at a rotten log that had fallen across the path. This was stupid. She shouldn't be doing this – it would only lead to more complications and more trouble. But here she was anyway, trudging through the forest, hangover finally subsided. Starbuck mulled Romo's lecture over in her head as she walked, annoyance fading and being replaced by curiosity, puzzlement.

"I'm doing my godsdamned best." She mumbled, ducking under a low hanging branch. The air grew cooler the higher up the mountain's base she went, and her sweat damp uniform singlet dried out, her flushed skin cooling.

What was it Romo Lampkin had said? Every action has a reaction? Well, that was obvious, but Starbuck didn't quite get how it applied to her situation regarding…Boxey. She clamped her jaw shut and gritted her teeth as she thought his name. Gods it was frakking awful. She could see that the President had a point, but it wasn't as easy to let the guilt go as he seemed to think. Starbuck couldn't just _decide_ not to be upset over killing Boxey. Things didn't work that way – emotions and consciences got in the way. Or at least they did for her – maybe not so much for Romo Lampkin. She was angry, godsdamnit. Angry at herself, angry with Lee, angry with Boxey, and definitely frakking angry with Paulla – the nasty bitch. Paulla had gotten off scot-free, and Starbuck frakking well knew that she had been involved somehow.

Her thoughts wandered all over the place, and underneath that driving itch pushed her on through the forest, toward the one person Starbuck didn't want to see. And yet did. A lot. Frak, she couldn't even make up her own mind. She tried not to think anymore, but a part of her brain kept relentlessly turning Romo's words over and over, examining them, prodding at them, trying to see the benefit behind taking heed of them. By the time she walked into the clearing surrounding Lee's cabin – hers and Lee's cabin, technically – Starbuck hadn't really gotten anywhere with her mental gymnastics. She had decided to do as Romo 'advised' and give up the heavy drinking, at least, and she guessed that was something.

Her eyes fell on Lee, looking up at her, paused in his work ploughing fresh rows into the garden. He was shirtless and his sun-browned shoulders were pink with sunburn, his hair falling into his eyes as he stared at her. Hopeful and so godsdamned happy to see her. The itch intensified.

"Kara." Starbuck liked it when he called her that, normally, but now it just pissed her off. She was still angry. She looked at him and she wanted to throw things at him, scream at him for not controlling Paulla and Boxey and…stopping it from happening, somehow. And then there was the part of her that desperately missed him and wanted to frak his brains out. While simultaneously feeling guilty for technically cheating on her comatose husband. Starbuck resolved to stop thinking for a while, crossing the clearing swiftly and stopping a pace away from Lee.

"Hi." She stared into his eyes, so blue under the sun. Her heart beat hard in her chest. Lee stared back.

"Are you…? I miss you. Missed you. Kara…" His hurt tugged at her heart and made her want to punch him. She settled for kissing him. Stepped forward and pressed against him, fingers digging into his hair and pulling his mouth to hers. His lips tasted salty, tongue like pine needle tea, and his hands gripped her sides, hot and firm. Starbuck wanted to melt into him, let all the tension just flow away, but she couldn't. Wouldn't. So she kissed him angrily, her teeth nipping at his lower lip, her fingers dragging at his hair, mouths and tongues tangling roughly. Lee was surprised, she could sense it in the way he took a step back at first, but then he clutched her closer, matching her ferocity, trying to gain the upper hand. But Starbuck was always the one who ended up on top, unless she wanted it otherwise. Her lips quirked against his as she thought that, one of her hands nimbly flicking his trouser button open, hand reaching inside.

And then Lee broke away from her, chest rising and falling as he panted.

"Kara, as much as I want to – shouldn't we talk?"

"I don't want to _talk_, Lee. I want to frak."

"Kara…"

"Lee." Starbuck echoed his pleading tone mockingly and grabbed his hand, tugged at it, and he shut up, thank frak, let her lead him inside into the warm, dim cabin. She needed this. Gods did she ever need this. They twined together, upright, mouths locking, his hands drifting possessively over her body, unbuttoning her own pants. She wriggled her hips and they fell to her ankles and he slid her plain cotton undies down to join her pants, hands roaming over her ass. Squeezing, kneading, while she raked her nails over his shoulder blades and sucked on the tip of his tongue. It was dark and warm, like a cave, a nest, the banked fire glowing dully, and Starbuck felt…safe. To indulge.

But she still remembered everything. Pulling the trigger, and that moment of horror when Starbuck realised the body dead on the street was Boxey's. And she was still alive, walking free and _alive_. Mortality, guilt, _self-flagellation_ – that stupid confusing word Romo Lampkin had used. Every moment that she spent with Sam, seeing his pale bony body; wasting away and untouched by the sun. Remembered what Sam had been – lean and hard, and so godsdamned full of life. The ways he had touched her, and made her burn and moan and beg for more and _harder_. Her mind raced and babbled. Getting wasted and thinking of life and death, human and Cylon, Lee and Sam, and where did she fit in exactly?

…

Her head spins around and vertigo makes her spine shiver and her stomach lurch, fingertips clutching harder at Lee's shoulders and hearing him groan into her mouth. Starbuck's clothes shed like an opening chrysalis, layers coming away and leaving her slim and bare in the firelight, in the drizzle of sun coming through the tiny windows. Lee's eyes drinking her in. Boots still on and pants around her ankles. Starbuck grins slightly. Still got the ability to laugh at herself. That has to be good. Lee's pants next, his dirt-ingrained fingers unzipping the fly and shoving them down his hips. Grabbing her up and half-carrying her – boots and pants and all – over to the bed. Their bed. His bed. On the floor on the bed, him wrenching her boots off and parting her legs, fingers darkly olive against the milk-white of her thighs. Laughing at him, an edge of hard anger to the sound and scrambling free, pushing him down onto the blankets. His torso still hot from the sun, damp with sweat, hands still dirty from the garden, and Starbuck unable to bring herself to care. His skin smelling delicious as she licks a trail up his collarbone, her giggles coming out throaty as he shivers and twitches at the touch.

It's quick and dirty and rough; no time for the finer points. But Starbuck's fingers suffice to satisfy her itch as she straddles him, gasping as Lee leans up to clamp his teeth over her nipples, laving them one at a time, his tongue rasping and hot and wet. She stays on top, only half-conscious that she's using all of this to take out her anger at him. Twice, she feels the rippling explosive satisfaction, moaning and mewling. No one around to hear. Perfect privacy. She's finished, but he's not and he rolls them over, pins her beneath him, his eyes dark and greedy, moving hard, deep. And then it's about her anger at herself, begging for more, for _harder_, until it hurts a little and she feels…self-flagellated. And so satiated. Lee pulls out before his climax hits him – no birth control left anymore – and comes on her concave lower belly, warm and sticky. Lee leaning over her; propped up on one elbow, kissing trails from her shoulder down over the gentle curves of her breasts. A smile, content and lazy, shapes his face with happiness.

And then she thinks of Sam…

And then she feels…

…

Starbuck stared up at the cabin roof, eyes wide and sad in the gloom, trying to cling onto the visceral goodness of her and Lee. But the primal, ripe feeling of satisfaction had slipped away as quickly as it came, and Starbuck just felt, well, hollow. An empty vessel, anger and sadness seeping back in as the mindless intensity of sex retreated. The memories seeping back in, unwanted.

"My gods, Kara. That was incredible." Lee flopped onto his back next to her, his chest rising and falling as his heart slowed and he caught his breath. He rolled his head so his eyes were on her, and she looked at him silently, mouth unsmiling. He was happy. Like that had just wiped everything else away. Starbuck sighed inwardly, fingers twitching and wanting to clench into fists. It had been good, gods yes, but it didn't erase all her problems, and it didn't resolve her confusion.

Starbuck couldn't even bring herself to nod in agreement, just looked at him for a long moment, thoughts scrabbling in her skull.

"Incredible." Lee said again, oblivious to her change in mood. He gazed at Starbuck tenderly and she felt the urge to flee, to cry, to hit him. But she just looked at him, lips plump from their brutal kisses, lashes long and casting shadows in the firelight. Lee's fingers traced the line of her jaw, and then he slowly leant in to kiss her.

"I should go." Starbuck wrenched away and scrambled off the bed, Lee's come dribbling down her abdomen as she stood. She swore – nothing to clean herself with – and grabbed his shirt and balled it up, scrubbing her skin. It smeared, sticky, and she swore again, jerking on her clothes, tears suddenly prickling behind her eyes. Lee had sat up and was staring at her bewilderedly, brow furrowed and happiness evaporating,

"Kara? What…? What's wrong?"

# # #

First time parents were always the worst. Especially the fathers. The women, well, they sucked it up and got on with it, but the men? Doc Cottle hadn't had much experience with childbirth until the Cylon attack on the Colonies, but since then he'd seen many a father faint or panic during labour. To be fair, some of 'em were just fine – a perfect supporter for the labouring woman – but more often than not they panicked. Didn't like seeing their wife or partner in pain. Huh, what did they think childbirth involved? Frakking stupid. The Doc stubbed out his cigarette and ducked back into the labour room – and as predicated, Baltar was still a mess. White as a sheet and hovering by Caprica's side, telling her she should be lying down, trying to dab her forehead with a cloth, and from the look on the Cylon's face, generally being a pain in the ass. At this stage in labour, or any, really, a woman didn't need distractions. Needed to focus on what was happening inside her body, like a horse or something. If it was a normally progressing labour the most important things apart from medical staff on hand were privacy, quiet, safety. Not Gaius frakking Baltar fluttering about and making a godsdamned fool of himself.

"Sharon. Make yourself useful. Take the lady's arm for a moment." Sharon Agathon had stuck around at Caprica's request, although Doc Cottle had seen her shoot a few longing looks at the door. It wasn't pleasant to witness even an easy labour when you were only a few months away from it yourself, but in Sharon's case Cottle thought it might help. Give Sharon an idea of how things could go this time around – nice and easy. Relatively speaking of course. She nodded and gingerly took Caprica's arm. The woman had just been walking around in circles for the past forty minutes, breathing the way the Doc had demonstrated. They had no pain meds safe for use in labour, and so there was no reason for Caprica to not move about – sometimes it helped speed things along and ease the pain a mite.

"Baltar. Get over here." Cottle jerked his head at the short man then the door, and Gaius peeled reluctantly away from his wife and followed Cottle out the door.

"Is there something wrong, Doctor?" Was the first thing the man said, anxious to the point of breakdown.

"The lady's doing fine. Excellent in fact. As is the baby, far as I can tell. It's you that's the problem." Doc Cottle fished another couple of cigarettes out of his breast pocket and offered one to Baltar, who took it with automatic polite thanks, head tilted to the side and chin outthrust,

"Me? Me? What have I done, Doctor?"

"Flapping around the woman like she's deathly ill, pestering her, distracting her." Cottle lit up Baltar's cigarette and then his own, giving Baltar a disapproving yet patient stare.

"But she – she –"

"_She_ will be fine. And in my opinion the whole process would go a lot smoother if you went and sat yourself down in the waiting room and, well, waited."

Baltar made a few soundless shapes with his mouth, blinked a few times, and then nodded and tottered off.

Good. Now Cottle could finish his cigarette in peace. No hurry to go back in.

# # #

"I don't frakking know, Ellen." Tigh growled over his shoulder as he hunted through his drawers. He knew he'd put another magazine of ammo in here somewhere. Ellen was searching for a necklace. A godsdamned necklace! And she seemed to think he should stop his search for something that was actually frakking important, to help her find the damned silly trinket.

"I know I put it down on the bedside table, it can't have just wandered off!"

"My gods, Ellen, no one even gives a frak about whether you're wearing a damned necklace or not! No one even notices what the frak you've got around your neck! I certainly don't!" He paused in his search and glared up across the room at her. She shrank back a little and he sighed heavily, immediately feeling guilty.

He would have thought that both of them having their memories of their time as Cylons back would have smoothed their relationship out a bit, but apparently not. They still fought like cat and dog half the time.

"I'm sorry." He straightened from the desk he was digging through and held out a hand to his wife, and she hurried across the room, dramatically flinging herself into his arms. He staggered back a step. Gods, had she always been this heavy? He amended that; maybe he was just getting old, worn out. Ellen kissed his face in a flurry and he captured her lips, a brief, passionate kiss. That part of Tigh wasn't slowing down with age at least, and he took a particular pride in that. She whimpered against him and he squeezed her ass with lascivious pleasure.

"I'm sorry too, Saul." She was breathy, fluttering her eyelashes at him in that way she had. Playing the distressed damsel, or however you put it.

"No, no, Ellen. It's my fault. I'm an old crotchety bastard."

"You're my Saul." She stroked his stubbled cheek and smiled gently at him. He rolled his one eye, giving her ass a firm pat before untangling himself from her embrace. She clutched at him, waggling her eyebrows and swaying her hips suggestively. It was damned tempting but unfortunately,

"I wish I could, Ellen, but I really have to find that frakking magazine and go. Hotdog had to unexpectedly take that damned kid of his to the hospital so he can't cover President-babysitting duty. And with Starbuck off weeping over her dead mini-assassin and Lee frakking Adama we're short on trustworthy people." Tigh grunted in tactlessly, and Ellen's face dropped slightly, a pout crossing her lips.

"Oh all right then, I'll help you look for it." Ellen conceded finally and began rummaging around their tiny little house. A bit bigger than his quarters on Galactica, to be fair, but not half as nice – furnished and built from a motley mix of native materials and bits scavenged from the Galactica, poor old girl. It gave the place a homey feeling though, a sense of continuity. They searched in silence for a good ten minutes, Tigh growing ever more frustrated. They were low on rounds, and although a few people had started making homemade bullets he thought they were shoddy in comparison to that damned magazine he knew he had somewhere around here.

"Got it!" Ellen held it up and Saul strode across the room and grabbed it, kissing her hard on the mouth.

"Thank you."

"Do you have to go?" Ellen's slim fingers went to his crotch and he made a low humming sound, detached her hand regretfully.

"Yeah." Tigh kissed her again, lightly on the cheek this time, hand smoothing her long loose hair. For all her dramatics, for all their arguments, he loved her.

"Will you be home for dinner?" Ellen was hopeful, lacing her hands up over his shoulders and staring into his eyes…_eye_, She smiled,

"I got some figs today – I was going to make a nice stewed pudding."

Tigh grunted assent,

"If it's a late meal. Redwing's taking over babysitting duty at eight."

"All right. Well, be careful out there, okay? I don't want you getting hurt, Saul." Ellen traced the curving line of the top of his eye patch, genuine emotion and not a dramatic act making her face worried.

"Don't be silly, Ellen. It's just a precaution. Nothing's likely to happen this soon after the last attempt. I'll be frakking fine." Tigh blustered, her worry making him awkward and defensive, and hurried out the cabin door after one last lingering kiss. She tasted like berries and her hands had returned to his crotch, another naughty parting squeeze. Gods…that woman. Tigh's lips quirked into a tiny smile.

# # #

It was winter weather; the sky darkly clouded, and the thin cover of snow over the ground made walking slushy, scrubby grass half-hidden beneath the dirty white veil. The vast steppes were a sheet of flat, patchy white and yellow-green, the occasional clump of low gnarled trees soaking up the snowmelt – this region was usually chill and arid, and any moisture was eagerly absorbed. Far off in the distance, far beyond the horizon, were the glaciers. Great ice beasts, slowly creaking and cracking, solid rivers, flowing millimetre by millimetre. The wind was screeching and wailing, the chill factor was gods knew how cold. A lone figure moved across the steppes, entire body from head to finger tips to toes bundled in ragged clothing and furs, leaning on a stout staff, a pack half the figure's size bundled on their back, hunched over as they walked into the wind, heading south east. Away from the unliveable Northern glaciers, travelling the long and dangerous path, back, towards the cradle of humanity.

The figure was bulky only because of the layers of clothing and laced together furs, body beneath gaunt and bony and male. Face unshaven beneath the cloth wound around the man's head. Eyes hollow and deeply set, fixed on a point on the horizon, trying to remember what direction to take, without compass or map. The figure mumbled to himself often, even though there was no one to hear him, even though the wind snatched his words away as soon as they left his mouth. It was so lonely, out here. Months? Years? He had lost all track of time. Sometimes he thought he might be mad. Sometimes he wondered if he was just wandering in circles, never getting any closer to where he was going.

"I take it back. Topography is not for pansies." Step by plodding step, fingers cold and numb within the rags bound around his hands, almost too nerveless to grip the staff he leant on.

"Gods. The things I'd do for a good map."

The man squinted toward the horizon, the enormous scope of the journey lowering his already oft-despairing spirits, sapping the minimal reserves of strength he clutched onto. He paused and rewrapped his face and head as the end of the turban-like mask was whipped free by the wailing wind, and then with a deep breath, he struggled onward on his leaden feet.

# # #

_Author's Note:_

So, did you enjoy? Please let me know what you liked or didn't like about this chapter, by using the handy dandy review button :D

_Part Five – Tectonic Shift_ should be up on Friday/Saturday NZ time.

_M Rated Section Author's Note: _

Some facts – The 'pullout method' that Lee and Starbuck use in this chapter, AKA _coitus interruptus_,has a _perfect use_ _failure rate_ of 4%, and the _perfect failure rate_ of the combined oral contraceptive pill is 0.3%.

The _typical use failure rate_ for the combined oral contraceptive pill is 2 – 8%, and the _typical use failure rate_ of the pullout method is 14 – 28%.

So, in a situation like the good folks on Earth 150,00 years ago are in, with no other contraceptives available, the pullout method is actually not a terrible way to prevent pregnancy – as long as the sexing couple have good control over themselves even whilst in the…ahem, heat of passion.

_Disclaimer: _I would however _not_ recommend the use of this method when other options are available, as a 4% failure rate is still too high IMO, and _perfect use_ is well nigh impossible to achieve with any long term consistency. Plus, you know, no protection against sexually transmitted infections. Do not try this one at home, kids. Condoms are your friends :D


	5. Part Five - Tectonic Shift

_Disclaimer: I do not own BSG or any of the characters._

_Author's Note: _Thank you to everyone who has reviewed; hearing your feedback is sweet, sweet fodder for my muse. Has anyone figured out yet who the man trekking across the steppes in the last chapter is? You won't see him again until Episode Ten – but if you leave a review and guess correctly as to who he is, I will PM you and let you know you're right – if you so desire :)

This chapter has a tentative _M-Rating_ for violence, just to be on the safe side, and please excuse all typos/frak-ups – I have no Beta and post from my crappy mobile.

Enjoy!

# # #

The birds scattered as raised voices pierced the peace of the forest, and small mammals nearby scurried for the safety of their burrows and dens.

"What? So you think that just because we _frakked_ everything is fine now? All back to normal, whatever the frak _that's_ meant to be?" Starbuck stormed topless out of the cabin and whirled around to face Lee, yanking her tank top over her head and tying her hair back with short jerky motions. Lee stood in the doorway, glancing up at her and trying to keep his balance as he struggled into his pants.

"I _thought_ it meant that you were willing to…I don't know." Lee zipped his fly up and glared at her, crossing the warm ground to stand a few paces away, arms crossed over his bare chest.

"And, _'just because we frakked'_? What's that supposed to mean? What? It didn't mean anything to you?" He was asking her to tell him she didn't mean it, that maws obvious. And she couldn't do that. Starbuck shivered, feeling cold even though the weather was clear and hot, the sun beating down on her head. Gods, she didn't want this. She should never have come to see Lee. She should have just stayed away. Frakking stupid.

"It was just sex, Lee." She was quiet, her arms wrapped around her middle, eyes fixed on Lee's bare toes on the grass rather than his face. She couldn't meet his gaze right now. He swore at her, and she peeked up briefly to see his brow crinkle and features twist with distress and frustration.

"Just sex? _Just sex?_ I love you, Kara! You and I…it's never been _just sex_ to me."

"Well this time it was for me! It's not my fault you decided to read more into it than there was."

"Oh frak you!" Lee sneered at her, his temper quickly rising to match Starbuck's own. She wanted to run away. Turn tail and flee back to the hospital – curl up by Sam's tank and have a good long cry. Gods, this wasn't like her. She didn't know what the frak was going on.

Lee looked at her, just looked, silently. Starbuck could feel his eyes burning on her skin. And finally she had to look up, if only to break the godsdamned tension. He was hurting. Angry, yes, but mostly…just hurting. Starbuck knew Lee well enough as both friend and lover to recognise the meaning behind his every tiny change in expression, and what she saw when she looked into his face was pain and sadness and…disappointment. It stung her. It made her furious. How dare he be disappointed in her? She was the one who was wronged!

"No, frak you, Lee!" Starbuck lost herself in her righteous anger, jabbing him in the chest with her index finger,

"Why would it be more than just sex to me? Huh? You – and your godsdamned movement – are the reason I had to shoot a boy down just a few days ago! I killed a child, Lee! If you'd just kept control of your frakking people, stopped them from doing stupid shit like sending _children_ to be assassins! If you'd never begun this whole anti-technology thing… Then Boxey would still be alive and the President wouldn't have gotten stabbed, and the colonists would be united instead of having this huge damned rift tearing us all apart! You stupid frakking son of a bitch!" Starbuck poked him in the chest with every point she made, advancing on Lee as he stumbled back, her face red and blotchy as she got more and more pissed.

"I'm angry with you, all right? Angry? No, not angry – I'm frakking furious!" She came to a halt scant inches from Lee and narrowed her eyes on him, shoving aside the internal twinge of guilt his crushed expression triggered. Starbuck was all about the anger right now.

"I frakking _hate_ you!" It was unfair and Starbuck knew it even as she said it. But she wasn't going to take it back. She refused to.

"What do you want from me, Kara? I did my frakking best to keep Paulla and the others from doing anything. Okay, so I _failed_. I get that. Believe me, I really, really do. Don't you think it's eating me up inside? I knew Boxey just well as you did. I had just as much to do with the kid. I cared about him too, Kara!"

"You weren't the one who had to pull the frakking trigger, Lee!" She screamed the words at him and was swamped with a sick flush of humiliation as tears welled up in her eyes and overflowed.

Lee jerked as if she had physically struck him, blinking at her.

"That's all on _me_. I killed him. I shot him. You just get to stand back and wash your hands of it all." Starbuck swiped a hand across her eyes roughly. Her nose started to run and she swore under her breath and sniffed hard, trying to wrest her emotions back into line. Anger she didn't care about, but she hated being vulnerable like this in front of people – even Lee. Especially Lee, right now. She shrugged, upper lip curling with contempt,

"You can hide behind your excuses. 'Oh, I couldn't stop them, oh, I wasn't there, oh, what could I do?' It's frakking _bullshit_ Lee."

"But I did try to stop them – to stop it. I did what I could! They just…they won't listen to me anymore." Lee flared up in response to her accusations, standing his ground. Starbuck couldn't believe it. He was trying to defend letting all this happen. Saying he couldn't…?

"That's my point, Lee! What the hell were you thinking, starting something so _huge_ and then losing control? They listened to you when you were dividing people into two little factions – tech and anti-tech, and they listened when you made it seem like the whole thing was some life or death situation, they listened when you had meetings and made pretty speeches that got people pissed and ready to frakking murder their opponents!" She shook her head, disgusted, not thinking anymore, just ranting.

"You egg them into getting so frakking riled up about it, believing in it so strongly, that you turn them into a bunch of frothing fanatics! And then when you try to calm them down and moderate them, you're _surprised_ that they won't listen? Gods…" She poked him in the chest again, her head tilted to the side as she eyed him up and down,

"Who do you think you are, _Gaius frakking Baltar_? Is he who you're trying to emulate now?"

"I was doing what I thought was right!" Lee's voice shot up two octaves and three notches in volume; visibly stricken as her verbal tirade beat at him. And all Starbuck could think was; _good_.

"You frakked it up, Lee. You frakked it up royally." She told him derisively, even as a small part of her that had been squashed deep inside protested; like she knew everything, like she hadn't frakked things up before? She ignored that small voice, staring stonily at him, arms akimbo and chin stuck defiantly up in the air.

"I tried." Was all Lee said, trying to hold himself together, lashes fluttering as he tried to stem the tears that threatened.

"Oh, you _tried_. That makes it all better, does it? That brings Boxey back to life?" Starbuck couldn't stop herself, she just kept pushing, heedless of the consequences. Consequences – every decision carried unavoidable consequences. What was going to be the consequence of this? Starbuck didn't stop to think about it.

Lee's voice was small as he repeated himself,

"I tried." His hand reached out and Starbuck watched and didn't stop him as his fingers brushed gently over her wrist, and then fell away. Their eyes met.

"Kara…I'm sorry. I _tried_."

"Yeah, well. It isn't frakking good enough." Starbuck began to walk away, and then jerked to a halt as he called after her,

"What about you, Kara? What portion of blame have you allotted yourself? Where's your burden of guilt?"

It struck Starbuck right damn centre. No, no she couldn't do this. He couldn't do this to her. She started walking again, shaking her head. She didn't want to hear it. She didn't want to do this. Not this. She had done it to herself enough – she didn't need Lee getting in on the action.

"_You_ frakking murdered him Kara!" Lee yelled and she heard the words even though she desperately didn't want to. Her pace stuttered and stopped.

"You said it yourself! You pulled the frakking trigger! _You_. Where's your frakking guilt? Is it my turn to lecture you now?"

She turned, limbs trembling and breath coming in little shallow gasps. Stared at him, eyes pleading with him not to go on.

"Do I get to tell _you_ what a heartless disgusting person you are? Do I get to tell you it's all your godsdamned fault?" Lee moved closer to her, shoulders tense and hands clenched as he approached where Starbuck stood frozen, like a rabbit in torchlight. His voice was lower now, lecturing her for _her_ mistakes,

"If you had just paid more attention, Kara. If you had walked out first instead of Romo. If you had looked before shooting. If you had shot to wound instead of kill." It was true; all of it. She couldn't deny a word, and her stomach twisted and lurched sickly.

Lee smiled, eyes flat and cold,

"Or even if you hadn't kicked him, Kara. That might have counted for something."

Starbuck whimpered at that, a faint sound that whispered from her lips. Lee grinned.

"Yeah, I heard. I heard all about it, Kara. So don't go acting so frakking high and mighty, like you could never be with me, like you're better than me, when you're just as frakking guilty." His teeth gritted and he swallowed hard, that horrible smile vanished from his face.

"Just _don't_. Because you're the one who put a bullet through him."

"And you wonder why I just wanted to frak without getting all cuddly and lovey? You don't understand why I can't stand to be around you right now? After everything you've done, and after your little speech just then, do you _still_ not get it? Gods." Starbuck's anger had drained away and left her feeling just…sick. Sick, and so godsdamned tired.

She walked away, determined not to stop this time, not to look back – no matter what words he threw after her. They were tearing each other apart, and if Starbuck stayed she knew she'd lose it on him. She didn't want to hit him.

"I love you, Kara!" The words were angry and an overlay of desperation saturated through Lee's voice.

"I love you!"

Starbuck ignored him. She didn't look back or stop. She left the sunlight for the forest, left the clearing and Lee behind. Her heart pounded in her ears and sobs heaved inside her chest, begging to get out. She squeezed her hands into balls, short nails indenting her palms with little crescents, angry-hurt tears blurring the tangled undergrowth around her as she stumbled through it half-blinded.

# # #

Gaius paced up and down, up and down the waiting area. A long narrow room at the front of the Landfall hospital, it had too few windows and was crowded with people, leading to a distinct oven-like feeling. He would be sweating anyway, nervous as he was, but the heat didn't help. He cupped his hands over his nose and mouth and dragged them down to his chin, shaking his head vigorously. He mumbled to himself as he paced, and noticed people giving him funny looks. Just like they had when he had been getting those visits from the hallucination of Caprica, such a long time ago now. Huh, he hadn't thought of that in a while. He missed her, strangely. His Caprica wasn't quite the same as Head-Caprica, as he had thought of her, and Gaius loved both of them. He shook his head again, trying to clear out the stupid thoughts that seeped in with the stifling heat and the worry.

It had been six hours. Six bloody hours! Doc Cottle had come wandering out two hours ago, cigarette jammed in the corner of his mouth, and told Gaius it was all, "Coming along fine, yep, coming along fine", whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. He guessed it was good. He wrung his hands together, paced up and down. Almost bumped into a woman with two small children clinging to her legs and an angry-looking baby in her arms and apologised stammeringly. Gods, was he ready to be a father? The thought terrified him just as much as it thrilled him, the responsibility alone making him want to go and lie down in a nice quiet, darkened room. The idea of a small helpless infant being totally dependent on him and Caprica for food, care and protection made Gaius – almost – wish for the days when his only worries were whether he'd be shot for treason. At least then he knew the stakes of the game. This…it was all unknown. And that terrified Gaius.

But there was no stopping it now. It was going to happen whether Gaius was ready or not. He kept pacing, ignoring the annoyed looks he was flashed as he got in people's way, forcing them to side step to avoid the repetitive track he was wearing in the waiting room floor. He paused and listened. Did he hear a scream over the chatter of the waiting patients and family? Maybe. He hunched his shoulders up around his ears and kept walking, a little more unsteadily this time, hands trembling at his sides. He hated to think of Caprica in pain. He tried not to let the fears of all the complications that could happen swim into his mind, pushed them away. Doc Cottle had said it was fine. Gaius focused on that, that the Doctor had said Caprica – and the soon-to-be-born baby – were fine. Perfectly fine. He wasn't convincing himself, and terrifying possibilities ran through his head inexorably as he paced.

Gods, this was _hell_.

# # #

"Godsdamnit!" Lee kicked at the long grass that covered the clearing, shaking with impotent fury.

"_Damnit_!" What the frak had that been? One minute Lee thought he and Kara were reconnecting – and gods it had been good. Exactly what Lee had needed to bring him out of the misery he had been sunk in. And then the next minute, Kara was storming out and blaming everything that had happened lately on him. He didn't understand her. Why in the hell had she come all the way up here and frakked him if she hated him so much? Lee kicked at the ground again, stubbing his toe on the hard ground beneath the grass and swearing, a long vicious string of curses. He needed to hit something, needed to get drunk, needed to…make Kara understand. Hah, there was little chance of her talking to him anytime soon after what he had said to her at the end there. He swore again and spun on his heel, heading into the cabin to – what? Sit down and have a cup of tea? Wreck the place again? There was nothing _to_ do.

Lee was just stepping up into the cabin when his head snapped around, pausing in mid-step as his ears caught the sound of someone pushing through the undergrowth. _Kara_, was his first thought, and a wild happiness drowned the dull rage that still thudded in his chest. She had come back. Lee was ready; ready to grovel and say he was sorry, for everything. Ready to take whatever blame she wanted to lay on him. Ready and able to give her the comfort Kara obviously so desperately needed. Ready to do almost anything if it would repair the abyss that had been ripped open between them. Lee turned to the sound and saw a female figure emerge from the tree line – on the opposite side of the clearing from which Kara had left. What? Dark hair, not blonde, draped over the woman's shoulders.

Paulla.

And Lee's heart sank like a stone.

"Lee Adama." Paulla's greeting was spitefully smug as she picked her way across the clearing toward him, hips swaying with each step. He gritted his teeth and smiled tightly at her.

"Paulla."

She drew closer and Lee could see an unnatural glitter to her eyes, a hard smile moulding her lips.

"I'm not in the mood for visitors, right now Paulla, especially not you." He added the last part sotto voce, chest wadded with the crushing disappointment that Kara hadn't come back. And now this stupid, fanatical woman turns up, to what?  
"What do you want?" He snapped out, arms crossed over his chest and she swayed even closer to him, answering his first comment as she dragged a finger along his forearm,

"I know. I heard, Lee. I'm _so, so, sorry_."

Lee shook her hand off him instantly and she shrugged, met his eyes coyly and before he could tell her where exactly she could go, added,

"But then Kara Thrace has always been…well, I may not have had much to do with you or her on the Galactica, of course, but it's obvious to everyone that she uses you. It must be hard."

Oh, that frakking bitch! What the frak was she playing at? Lee restrained himself with an effort,

"You know _nothing_ about Kara. You know nothing about my relationship with her. I think it's best if you shut your mouth, before you say something you shouldn't."

Paulla was the real godsdamned reason Boxey had gone off and tried to kill Romo. The reason Starbuck hated Lee and hated herself. She was the one trying to pull all the strings, trying to lead Lee's people away from him and into her lap. Lee had to stop her. Making impassioned speeches to the dissidents wouldn't work if Paulla was always there in the background, twisting Lee's words and convincing people he was misguided, or just plain unfit to lead the movement. It was her – Paulla.

She was looking at him with that perfectly calm expression of superior amusement, and Lee yanked himself back to reality as she murmured,

"Things must be very hard for you at the moment, Lee. So many distractions. It must be hard to be in a leadership position when the failure of your personal life is absorbing you."

"I'm sorry, _what_?" He was stunned, too stunned to do anything but stare at her, jaw agape.

And then Paulla did something completely unexpected. She edged into his little bubble of personal space again and glided her hands down from his neck, getting to his elbows before he knocked her hands away.

"Keep your hands off me."

"You don't _need_, Kara, Lee. She doesn't respect you, she doesn't love you, and she doesn't understand the cause. I do! I can be your…support – I can take over while you get past this…distraction. Give you a chance to get your breath. I care about this movement just as much as you, Lee – no – more, even. Forget about Kara Thrace. Let _me_ help you." Her voice was a persuading drone and her fingers curled titillatingly around his pants crotch and the delicate parts contained within, leaving Lee in no further doubt as to what Paulla was meaning. She was trying to seduce him. He blinked, taking a split second to process that insanity. And then her words sank in and Lee felt all his impotent anger and frustration at everything rear up and overwhelm him.

Lee's mind splintered.

Dualla killing herself. Laughing and talking to him, so happy. Maybe they could recover what they had? Build something better together, something stronger? So happy, so happy with her, for the first time in so long – happier than they had ever been together. And then Lee realised it had been a lie. She had kissed him goodbye and left him with a smile, and then gone and shot herself in the head, and all that hope, all that happiness… was just…gone.

His father leaving, just up and going off with Roslyn, abandoning the fleet, the colonists – abandoning _Lee_. Giving up. And for what? To go and grieve a dead woman for the rest of his life? Not willing to stay for Lee, but willing to leave for Laura. It stung – a hurt Lee tried to pretend didn't exist – that Lee was placed beneath a memory in his father's mind.

Trying so godsdamned hard to do the right thing for the people. To be a good man, a strong man. Like his father. Believing in a cause. Trying to stop the cycle, start afresh, leave behind the technology that had brought them to this place and this time, left them an endangered, shattered species. And then losing control over the _good_ and_ right_ cause he had created and nurtured for so many months, his grasp slipping and slipping until blood was spilt.

Following a path that led away from Lee's stellar career in the fleet, away from the main colony, away from so many intrinsic concepts he had known and believed in, so many things he had clung to as important. Striking out and becoming his own man, not following the route Lee's father had mapped out for him – pre-destined and clear. Not knowing where his choices were taking him, not knowing if they were the right ones or not.

Saul Tigh telling him that his father would be ashamed of him.

Kara saying she hated him. Foisting every last bit of the blame for Boxey's death on Lee. Him wanting to fight to keep what they had shared, for such a short fragile time; that happiness, that tentative domesticity, and Kara just…turning away. Lee loved her, so godsdamned much that it hurt, but she wouldn't frakking listen to him and he couldn't make her.

Calling Kara a murderer and seeing her face crumble.

And then, there was Paulla, the thorn in his side – the trigger for the avalanche of shit that had torn through his life. So much of Lee's recent strife could be laid at her feet. So much of the blame belonged to her.

Something snapped inside him. He _let_ it snap.

Without conscious decision Lee's hand lashed out and took Paulla by the throat, gripping right beneath her jaw, his fingers and thumb stretching from ear to ear, squeezing. He angled his hand upward and her chin was forced up and she gasped for scant breath automatically, hands clawing into Lee's and trying to rip it away. It felt…good to see her like this, frakking frightened and helpless; not smug and self-satisfied any more. Lee dragged her around using his hold on her fragile throat to force her to move where he wanted her to go. He was the one in control now. Paulla's eyes were bulging out of her head and her limbs flailed desperately at him as he slammed her against the side of the cabin.

"You don't talk about Kara like that, you self-serving, vicious, manipulative bitch!" Lee put his mouth by Paulla's ear, hissing the words at her, ignoring her frenzied and weakening clawing at his bare shoulders. He pulled back, millimetres from her face, as though they were about to kiss, a perverted mockery of lovers' locked in an embrace. Her face began to go puce, and he relaxed his grip a calculated amount, letting her wrench in a breath before tightening his grasp again.

"I am sick and frakking tired of you playing your little games, Paulla, and I'm not putting up with it any longer. I know full damn well it was you who provoked Boxey, you who riled up the others, sowing discord through my people, causing them to doubt me, to turn to violence. I know full well you'd love to take charge of things around here, love to _depose_ me." His voice was low and hard as he stared coldly into her eyes. Her feet jerked staccato against his shins and he thrust his hand harder against her throat, slamming her head back against the logs of the cabin wall, then relaxed his grip so she could take another ragged shallow breath.

"Hear me now – I am out of patience. Stop trying to lure my people away from me, stop trying to stir up shit, stop it all, all of it. Back the _frak_ off, or I will have to do something about it." He stared into her bulging, frantic eyes,

"And here, right now, Paulla, I am not the noble Captain Apollo, I am not the honourable Major Adama anymore. I do not answer to anyone but myself. I have lost my wife, my father, and now it seems, the person I love more than anything in the frakking galaxy. You do _not_ want to frak with me, Paulla." He waited for her to give her assent, relaxing his hand around her throat again, letting her feet drop flat to the ground. She sucked in huge breaths but said nothing, tears leaking from her eyes.

"Do you understand me?" His hand flexed warningly around her throat and Paulla nodded desperately.

"Yes." She choked out, smugness and poise erased and replaced, with tears and terror.

"Lee, please – yes! I understand!" Her voice was hoarse and her eyes couldn't meet his, salty drops slipping from her jaw and splatting on his wrist.

Lee blinked. Stared at the liquid that anointed his skin. Blinked.

His hand fell from her throat and he took a stumbling step back. Reality roared back through Lee in a deafening rush, and he heard birdsong sparkling from the treetops, a goshawk screech far off somewhere.

"Good." His voice was flat and dull to his own ears. He rubbed his wrist with one hand, the muscles aching from the hold he'd had on Paulla's throat. His extremities felt heavy and numb, and his blood throbbed at his temples.

"Good." Lee said again, and turned and left her sagging against the wall, shutting the cabin door behind him, and sinking back against it, knees feeling watery and weak.

# # #

Her hair was sweat-soaked and damp clumps stuck unflatteringly to her forehead, her face a blotchy bright red as she knelt on a hospital mattress on the floor; her upper body slumped bonelessly over a metal chair.

"When is this baby going to come _out_?" Came the frustrated wail, as an exhausted Caprica clutched at Athena's hand and tried to tune out the other woman's soft and stilted murmurs of encouragement. Athena's presence reassured Caprica, but her reassurance made the labouring Cylon want to choke the other woman. Caprica had been pushing for what felt like forever, and her every muscle was trembling on the verge of collapse. This was inhuman. She almost agreed with Cavil on the human shape being impractical to say the least – a sentient being shouldn't have to go through _this_ to reproduce.

"Won't be long now. You're doing fine. Baby's crowning, so just keep pushin' when you feel the urge, and it'll pop out eventually."

"_Eventually_?"

"Won't be long." Cottle patted Caprica's hand and she repressed the urge to snarl at him, digging deep into herself and finding the strength to keep going. She didn't have any other choice now anyway. Caprica clung to Cottle's words,

'won't be long' – and then she'd have their baby in her arms at last.

That would make it all worthwhile, or so she had heard. A contraction clenched and shook her body and she groaned, pushed.

It godsdamned _better_ make it all worthwhile.

# # #

Author's Note: Okay, so this was a heavy, heavy chapter. Let's dissect it a bit… Regarding Starbuck and Lee, well…this is not really a shipping story. This is meant to be a continuation of the series, so…at this point, well, I honestly do not know where I want Lee and Kara to be at the end of the season. They may end up perfectly happy together having resolved their problems, or they may not – I haven't decided what would fit best. BSG is known for doing horrible, sad things to its characters, and I'm trying to faithfully hold to that trend and resist the urge to make everyone happy-happy all the time. Because that's not very interesting, is it?

(_Plus_, I plan to do a "movie"-type story at the end of this season, which will either wrap up any loose threads in Season Five, or hopefully, if I can come up with enough plot arcs, wrap up some loose ends _and_ introduce _Season Six_. So Starbuck and Lee's storyline may not be resolved anytime soon – again, I haven't decided.)

Lee and Starbuck are going through a lot of changes this season – they're trying to figure out who they are (in Starbuck's case, quite literally) and where they fit in, who they want to be etc. This new life on Earth is an alien situation for all of the characters, and they are going to take some time to adjust – especially Lee and Starbuck. I see it as Starbuck being torn between her loyalties and feelings for both Anders and Lee, and although she wants to be with Lee, what she has with him has never felt quite right in her mind – there's always something frakking it up. But then Anders is in a coma, and their relationship was hardly perfect either... And she does love Lee. But then with his leadership of the dissidents, Starbuck partially blames him (fairly or not) for her having to kill Boxey, so there's that barrier between them. And then, she wants to find out who she is and what she might be, and that's not something she feels she can share with Lee. So there's lots of confusion there.

And Lee, well, as you can see this chapter, Lee is going and has gone through a hell of a lot. People don't come out the other end of what he (and many of the other characters) have gone through since the attack on the colonies without picking up a hell of a lot of emotional trauma. PTSD, anger, questioning their choices and lives, stress, regret, and grief, survivor's guilt…those are all likely realistic consequences of the events the Fleet, and Lee in particular have experienced. And I'm trying to be realistic-ish.

So his encounter with Paulla is the last straw, the release valve on all the stress and such that Lee has been struggling to bury deep inside/keep control of/deny. With Starbuck, Lee is her handy-dandy scapegoat, and with Lee, it's Paulla. So he kind of loses it for a moment; he can't take it anymore. He's become progressively battered and disillusioned throughout the series IMO – right back to the beginning of the series when he had to destroy that passenger ship (can't remember its name), and now it's all starting to take its toll, finally.

It seems not unlikely to me that Lee could snap and react violently to Paulla's poisonous attempts to take control of the anti-tech movement (his baby, his project – and a big part of his trying to find himself) away from him, and mocking him, right after he's just been fighting with Starbuck. I was worried the scene would be out of character, and perhaps some of you think it is (please give me feedback!) but I actually feel it works quite well when seen in the light of all the strain Lee has been under and all that he has had to go through, and is still going through…

Anyway, I want to know what _you_ think. Did I do that well? Where do you want Starbuck and Lee's relationship to go? Was Lee's loss of control believable? Review!

The next chapter, _Part Six – Eupheme_ will likely go up on NZ's _Monday_. And why is it called _Eupheme_, you ask? See if you can guess :)

*heaves a sigh*

And here ends my most enormous Author's Note ever.


	6. Part Six - Eupheme

_Alas, I do not own._

_Author's Note:_ Thank you as always to those who have reviewed. You are splendiferous! Please review MOAR!

_Eupheme _is the ancient Greek female spirit of words of good omen, praise, acclaims, shouts of triumph, and applause.

Enjoy!

# # #

"It's over?"

"It's just beginning." Doc Cottle said, dryly sympathetic, and a vision of sleepless nights and dirty nappies and endless wailing flashed through Gaius' head. He stumbled after Cottle through the narrow hallways of the small hospital building, feeling utterly dazed.

"Caprica? The baby?" He thought to ask, and the back of Doc Cottle's head nodded briskly.

"Perfectly fine, mother and baby. She had a picture perfect labour." Cottle stopped outside the door to Caprica's room. Sharon Agathon was just slipping quietly out, black hair straggling untidily around her tired but awed face.

"If that's picture perfect, Doc..." She curved an arm around her belly and gave Cottle a look and Gaius realised stupidly that _of course_ Sharon Agathon would be going through the same experience shortly.

"Thank you. So much. For staying…when I…" He tried to tell the Cylon woman sincerely and she shrugged, smiled wearily,

"I was…happy to help." The truth of the words seemed to surprise her.

"Congratulations, by the way."

"Thank you, Sharon." Then turned his attention to the open doorway. Gaius stared at it apprehensively, frozen to the spot. Through that doorway lay his future. His family. _Family_. His wife and his child. Just inside. He was terrified.

"Well go on then, no need to be shy." Doc Cottle gave him a little nudge and Gaius stumbled through the doorway, his eyes lifting, widening as they took in the tableau before him.

Caprica was sitting up on the hospital bed, hair loose and tangled like limp curtains hiding her face as she stared down at the tiny blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. Her loose men's tee shirt was pulled up, allowing the tiny creature in her arms access to one of her breasts, and she crooned to the infant in a soft tender voice that though low as a whisper, filled the room. Gaius' chest constricted and he must have made some sort of sound although he wasn't aware of it, because Caprica looked up at him and smiled.

"Isn't she beautiful, Gaius?"

"Sh-she?" He hadn't thought to ask Doc Cottle. He'd been too lost in shock and relief to think of anything, his brain ticking away on automatic. Gaius tentatively took a few steps closer to the hospital bed, peering forward, hands fidgeting together nervously. His heartbeat rose in proportion with his proximity to Caprica and his…daughter?  
"Yes. A little girl, Gaius." Caprica was ecstatic, beaming up at Gaius as he neared her step by slow step. The tiny room seemed as though it were a mile wide, and his feet felt encased in blocks of concrete.

"A daughter." He echoed wonderingly.

The thought did not compute. Gaius Baltar had a daughter. Despite fully realising that gestation generally led to birth which generally tended to result in an infant, Gaius apparently hadn't comprehended the enormity of the moment when the baby actually became a, well, baby. Fulfilled its potential and emerged as a separate little creature, a foetus no longer, but a visible, touchable _actual baby_. His mind babbled incoherently. He was at the bedside now, but the blanket the baby – his daughter – was wrapped in obscured her little features from this angle. Caprica shifted and Gaius met his wife's bloodshot eyes, stroked her clammy cheek – she had never looked more, well, not beautiful to be honest, but…amazing.

"I love you." He said simply and seriously, and she nuzzled her cheek against his palm,

"I love you too."

There was a soft mewl and Caprica hissed, rearranging her breast, the bundle of baby and her shirt, and the infant came off her nipple with an audible little popping sound.

"Ouch." Caprica rubbed at her breast and winced, and held the bundle toward Gaius.

"What?"

"Take her, Gaius."

He wasn't so sure about this, but he held out his arms and let Caprica deposit the bundle of blanket and baby into his arms. She felt so light, so incredibly light, he marvelled as he tried to shift her around to nestle against his chest. And then a little arm came flying free of the swaddling and bumped against him, dragging the blanket down away from her face.

Gaius inhaled sharply. He forgot all about his terror. Forgot all about the responsibility, the vulnerability of parenthood. He also forgot to breath for several moments as he drank in the sight of his and Caprica's daughter

He was in awe – he was in love.

Gaius was aware of the strangest _shift_ as he was displaced from the centre of his own universe by this tiny little creature. Suddenly, for the first time in his life, someone else was unequivocally, unquestionably, _eons_ more important than himself. His internal world lurched as it stopped revolving around him, and began orbiting the sleepy newborn in his arms.

She was perfect. _Perfect_. The still rational part of his mind told Gaius that she was just an average newborn, and as such, a little goopy, with squashy features and an ever so slightly misshapen head from her compressed journey into the outer world…but she was perfect. His finger tickled gently at her tiny skinny hand and her fingers clamped around it and Gaius gasped – her grip surprisingly strong. Her nose was a flat blotchy button, and her navy blue eyes dark-lashed almonds closing sleepily. Her mouth was a plump, pursed little bow, and her head was covered with a matted dark fuzz of hair. She blinked repeatedly as she grew ever sleepier, her eyes solemn on Gaius, her lips suckling at the air with little slurping noises.

He lifted her a littler higher in his arms, feeling as though he were cradling a nuclear device, so carefully he held her, so frightened of dropping her, he was. He placed a precise kiss on her forehead, revelling in the softness of her skin, the strangely delicious scent that clung to her.

"She's beautiful. She's…absolutely beautiful." Gaius glanced up at Caprica who watched him from her position relaxing back against the bed pillows, looking incredibly smug and pleased with herself. He looked back down at the tiny infant in his arms, now sleeping with one fist tucked up against her cheek. A smile took over Gaius' face as elation washed through him. Elation and…joy? A sudden sense of certainty? A feeling of completion, maybe?

Whatever it was, Gaius looked into his daughter's face, and everything was right with the world.

"_Eupheme_." He tried the name they had picked for a girl, and it rolled off his tongue like music, like happiness.

"It suits her, don't you think?" Caprica reached up and twiddled a tiny pink toe sticking out of Eupheme's soft wrappings. She seemed unable to take her eyes off their daughter, and Gaius understood exactly how she felt.

"Eupheme Gaia Baltar." Gaius tried out her full name. It seemed rather large for such a small human. He tried again, softly, breath whispering on her forehead and making her stir in her sleep.

"Pheme." That was better. She looked like a Pheme, pink mouth still pursed and making little sucking motions, the line of her lashes two dark crescents on her soft skin.

Caprica grinned, wide and exuberant despite the dark bruising of exhaustion below her eyes.

"Our little girl." She tugged at Gaius' arm and he obediently sat on the edge of the hospital bed, holding Eupheme so they could both see her face. The pair of new parents, just sitting silently together, in awed worship of the tiny sleeping half-human half-Cylon.

# # #

She was kneeling on the hard metal floor and her knees ached, but she couldn't be bothered moving the mattress just scant inches over to the tank. She had finally finished crying, and her eyes were red and swollen, nose still running a bit. Her chin was nestled in her palm, that arms elbow resting on the edge of the tank. The other arm draped down into the white syrupy liquid, fingers clutching Sam's hand. The goo was body temperature and slippery, and Sam's hand was limp and lifeless. He was unplugged. Starbuck hadn't been able to take his endless ramblings. The way certain common words would trigger off incoherent speeches that lasted what seemed like forever, and nothing would shut him up. Besides, she didn't want to try and fruitlessly grill him for clues about her identity right now; she just wanted his company. No, it wasn't company. How could a comatose man keep you company? Presence? You could hardly even call it that. She…she wanted to hold Sam's hand and spill everything out to him, but she didn't want him conscious. She didn't want Sam to hear what she had to say. To risk him understanding, somewhere underneath the blank surface, in the recesses of his brain. Starbuck squeezed her eyes shut until starbursts haloed on the black canvas of her eyelids, and sighed. She was a frakking horrible person, coming whining to her husband about the guy she was in love with.

Three bottles of Joe's strongest liquor lay drained on the floor by the tank. Starbuck had stopped by Joe's on the way back from Lee's, nothing to trade that Joe wanted, she'd convinced the bar owner to let her have the drink on credit. Gods, maybe Romo Lampkin was right and she _was_ turning into Tigh.

"I tried, Sam. I did, really." The irony of the fact that Lee had said those same words to her earlier today was not lost on Starbuck. She hadn't thought it was good enough for him to have just tried, why should it be good enough for her? And it wasn't even true in her case. She _hadn't_ tried.

"I went up there to…because…" She felt ashamed.

"I went up there because I was lonely, and confused, and because, because I just wanted a good frak." The last part was hard to admit.

Sam stared at the ceiling, blinking exactly once every minute. Could he hear her? Understand her? Starbuck hoped not. Gods.

"I'm angry with him. I hate him because of what he's – at least partly – to blame for. And I hate myself. And then hate him some more, because he's partly the reason I had to shoot Boxey. Partly responsible for why I hate myself. And I thought maybe I could forget about that for a while – choose to ignore it, and go and be with him and _enjoy_ it. The physical touch, the way he smells, the feel of his skin against mine."

She let her forehead slip to rest on the cold edge of the tank.

"I thought I could just _decide_ not to think about the bad things. Thought I could just focus on the moment." The physical, she replaced in her mind. Because if she was truly honest, the reason she had gone to see him was because she was lonely, affection starved, and miserable, and wanted him to make her feel good.

Loved.

"I used him."

Lee had taken Starbuck's desire to frak him to mean that she was ready to move past what had happened and fix things between them, and he hadn't been stupid for thinking that. It was a fair assumption to make. She was the stupid one for thinking Romo Lampkin's advice applied to sexual situations. Stupid. She thunked her head on the tank edge. Stupid. She had gone up there and thrown herself into his arms, and hoped that he wouldn't be upset when she pissed off straight after without so much as a 'thanks for the ride'.

Starbuck kept her eyes closed, her head on the edge of the tank, her fingers gripping Sam's hand tight, turning her thoughts over and over in her head, trying to make sense of things. She drifted, deep in drunken melancholy.

"And then I yelled at Lee and blamed him for everything. I told him I hated him, Sam. _Hated_ him."

"Do you?" Sam's voice came from behind her, and Starbuck could almost feel the brush of his hands on her slumped shoulders. She didn't look up, didn't turn around. She wasn't surprised, somehow.

"I don't know. No. I don't hate him. But I don't know…I don't know what to do. I don't know what I want anymore."

"Don't you?"

Starbuck laughed weakly.

"I want you."

"You can't have me."

"So you're trying to match me up with Lee?"

"Never said that. I don't like seeing you sad though. I want you to have what makes you happy."

Starbuck could feel Sam crouching down behind her, his knees bracketing her torso, hands smoothing the tension out of her shoulders. And she could feel his limp hand in the tank. Her stomach revolted on her and she gulped, willing it to steady.

Sam spoke again,

"Was it nice, seeing Lee today, before you argued? Did it make you happy?"

"It was good, during. The sex, I mean. It always is. It's just…a good time."

"You're a physical person, Kara. Always have been." There was a smirk to Sam's voice. His hand, warm and large and filled with strength, stroked over her cheek. She made a soft whimpering noise, pressed into his touch. Her chest hurt.

"But it wasn't happiness, not really. And then the glow faded, just drained away. And I thought of you." She shook her head slightly, miserable over what had happened after the sex, wishing she could wipe it from her memory.

"And then I got angry and said…and then he yelled…and…"

"Poor Lee." Sam seemed to mean it sincerely.

"I can't help it! And I thought you weren't match-making anyway?"

"I'm not. I just remember what it's like. To be with you and for you to be…elsewhere."

Gods, that struck right to the heart. Starbuck flinched, hand clamping involuntarily around Tank-Sam's.

"I'm sorry." She whispered and his fingers combed through her hair, a forced lightness to his voice,

"Don't be. Just keep talking. What is it you want?"

"You."

"What about Lee?"

"He's…family."

"_Family_?"

"Not like _that_. Idiot. He's…safety. Home. Permanent."

"That used to frighten you. It's why you married me." No accusation or sadness, just statement of fact.

"It's not, you know." Starbuck corrected dreamily, her fingers wriggling between Tank-Sam's, squeezing rhythmically.

"I married you because I love you. Still do."

"What am I then, if Lee is family and safety and home? If he's permanent, what am I?" A brief pause,

"Apart from comatose, that is."

"Freedom. You've always been freedom, Sam."

"From what?"

"Everything bad. Everything that trapped me. From the parts of myself I didn't like. Don't like. Just…freedom."

"You wanted freedom?"

"_Yes_."

"So why did you keep going back to Lee? Why wasn't I enough?"

"…Habit? Gods, I don't know, Sam. I just…needed him. What he could give me was…gods, I'm sorry I shouldn't be saying this to you."

"Freedom is frightening." He told her softly, like it was the sagest truth ever said, his breath hot on the nape of her neck, making the downy hairs there stand on end.

"Yeah." She agreed.

"You've been frightened. For so long."

She didn't answer him.

"Are you still frightened, Kara?"

Starbuck thought about it for a while, probing the question like a sore tooth.

"No."

There was wonder in her voice.

"I'm not."

Saying it was like the release of a pressure valve she hadn't realised was stuck, and in the wake of the pressure's escape, Starbuck felt the barest hint of something blissful. Serenity. She smiled against the cold tank, eyes still shut, her thumb caressing Tank-Sam's palm. Enjoying a moment that stretched on. Indeterminable time passed without her realising.

"Sam?"

Sudden awareness that there were no knees snugged each side of Starbuck's waist. No breath on her neck, no hands on her shoulders, or her face. The air around her was still and warm with late summer's heat.

"Sam?" Voice injected with the panic of grief and fear, Starbuck opened her eyes and lifted her head. She was going to look around for the Sam Anders she had heard speaking, but she didn't need to – she knew he wasn't there now, if he ever had been. Knew as soon as she looked up and saw reality – saw Sam.

He lay silently in his tank, staring up at the ceiling. Pallid and thin, bald headed, body limp, eyes staring up at the ceiling. He blinked and she jumped and leaned forward with her heart in her throat; the last vestiges of a desperate hope she hadn't even acknowledged to herself. And Sam kept staring blankly up at the ceiling.

Starbuck collapsed back into a heap on the floor, sending bottles skittering as her legs, deadened from being knelt on for too long, refused to obey her brain's commands. She sprawled in a heap on the floor and her throat hurt and tore, and her lungs felt tight. And she sobbed, raw and wrenching.

Starbuck knew what she wanted. She knew what she wanted.

# # #

"Don't know why we had to come all the godsdamned way out here anyway. Could've gotten him hauled in. Stupid frakking thing to do, walking all this way in your frakking condition. Making me slog through this gods-forsaken forest. I'm not made for frakking walkabouts. I'm a Fleet Colonel not some kind of godsdamned wilderness lover."

Romo grinned as Saul Tigh grumbled on under his breath, thinking he was speaking low enough that the President couldn't hear his constant ranting. Romo Lampkin had very good hearing, thank you very much. But he didn't say anything; partly because he didn't want to ruin Tigh's fun, and partly because it was an amusing distraction from the discomfort of the journey.

Jake trotted along at Romo's heels, darting off every so often to examine an unusual smell at the edge of the track, and the end of the sturdy cane Nora Oriana had found for Romo dug into the soft ground with each step. Romo found himself leaning on it more than he would have liked to – perhaps Tigh did have a point. But Romo had wanted to come and beard the lion in his den. Lee would react better to being approached on his own territory than, as Tigh had put it, 'hauled in'. Anyone would. And it was important that Romo speak to Lee. The younger Adama – the only Adama, now – was an important force; his actions had a larger impact on his surroundings than most. After Saul Tigh had dragged him in and _interrogated_ him, Romo wanted to make it perfectly clear to Lee, that he did not have a problem with Lee himself. With his faction, yes, but not with Leland Adama, the man.

Romo had a feeling that the anti-tech movement was not going to give up and go away, whether Lee was at the head of the movement or not. And Romo far preferred the idea of Lee in control of the movement than someone like Paulla. So, here he was, trekking through the forest not a week after being stabbed three times, to try to speak with Lee Adama, and talk about making some concessions. To speak with Lee in enough apparent good faith, and make just compromises towards Lee's goal, that it made Lee look good and put him firmly back in the driver's seat. Romo shook his head, sighed. Politics. In order to prevent violence on either side, Romo would have to walk the thin line between protecting his own interests, and making Lee appear successful to his faction.

"Jake, come on." The dog was lagging behind and Romo whistled sharply. The border collie looked up from the deer tracks he was sniffing, went stiff with nose pointed, and then came bounding up, gambolling circles around Romo's feet.

From what Romo had gleaned from gossip and rumours, Lee seemed to be incapable of de-fanging Paulla on his own, and so Romo was going to have to do it for him. Solidify Lee's position to prevent Paulla deposing Lee and taking over and, no doubt, turning the cause into a raging bunch of fanatics.

"I can see his house, up ahead. See, just on that ridgeline, there?" Tigh pointed upward and Romo followed his finger to the small log cabin barely visible through the trees, and nodded,

"Good." Too tired to waste breath on words, and then resumed his slow, painful walk.

"Mr Adama." Romo greeted the man briskly from the doorway. Lee Adama was sitting at his table, staring blankly at an empty mug, posture exuding pure misery. So miserable was he, that he hadn't even bothered to look up at the noises Romo knew he and Tigh had made as they arrived, hadn't bothered to say a word when Romo had rapped on the door frame. Hmm. This might be more difficult than Romo thought. He didn't know what exactly had happened to turn Lee into the lump of human misery staring into a badly made clay cup like it held the secrets to the universe. He suspected it might have something to do with Kara Thrace.

"Mr Adama?" Romo prompted again and this time Lee looked up briefly, before going back to his cup staring. Romo waited patiently for Lee to answer him, and thought perhaps Lee was playing his own waiting game. But Romo wasn't going anywhere. He hadn't walked nearly an hour through the hilly forest just to turn around and leave. His abdomen whinged bloody murder at him, and he used the doorframe for a little discreet support in staying upright.

"Mr President." Lee finally said after a long pause, sighing heavily as he spoke, his shoulders slumping as he exhaled. Romo took that as an invitation in, and took a seat opposite Lee, propping the cane against the table and leaning forward, hands folded neatly on the tabletop.

"I have my first Council meeting in several days, Mr Adama. They will want to find someone to blame for the attempted assassination on me. They will want to send a message to the dissidents, making it very clear that such acts will not be tolerated. Preferably by making an example of the leader of the dissident movement who would be, in the Council's limited imagination, the most likely instigator behind the attack." Romo waited a moment, but Lee predictably said nothing.

"I'm sure you understand what that would mean for _you_, Mr Adama."

Still nothing, Lee's fingers slowly turning the clay mug around and around purposelessly. Romo nodded his head slightly, raised his eyebrows.

"The Council still believes that you are in charge of the dissident faction. I, however, have heard otherwise. I know that you would not have ordered an assassination attempt, and when I think about who may have egged the young man on, my mind inexorably turns towards someone in particular. Paulla, your little right-hand woman. Or at least, she was."

Lee made a bitter little chuckle; his eyes still on the cup, and Romo wondered if it was something Romo had said that prompted the laugh, or whether Lee was ignoring Romo completely and laughing at something he was thinking about.

"The way I see it, Mr Adama, you shall very likely be accused of conspiring in a crime you were not involved in, as leader of a faction that you – to speak bluntly, my apologies – no longer have full control of."

Lee smiled to himself, apparently exceedingly amused as well as miserable, and Romo frowned. This conversation was not proceeding as he anticipated.

"If you can regain total control over your people however, and can assure me no more violent acts will take place, I _may_ be able to convince the Council to take no action against you – _yet_." Romo altered his original speech slightly, and kept back the mention of concessions or compromises. It was unnecessary to bring them into the conversation them before they were relevant – Romo didn't want to be boxed into giving any more ground than he had to. And before he even began manipulating – ah, _negotiating_ with the man opposite, Romo had to find out exactly what the situation regarding Lee's leadership was, and what in the frak was going on with Lee Adama.

"So, Mr Adama. _Can_ you assure me that Paulla and her ilk will not be causing any more…trouble?"

Lee looked up and grinned bleakly at Romo, speaking for the first time since his acknowledgement of Romo's presence.

"Paulla won't be a problem, Romo."

For a split second the way Lee said that made Romo rather worried, and his fingers twitched on the tabletop, and then Lee continued dully,

"I spoke with her, and made it very clear that I remain in charge, and she is not to take any steps without first consulting me."

Romo blinked, taken aback. He threw the rest of his speech out, and improvised.

"Excellent. I'm pleased to hear that, Mr Adama. I will speak to the Council on your behalf then, and see what I can do about keeping you off the hangman's block…metaphorically speaking. I hope."

"Mm." Lee grunted and returned to his hunched over examination of the empty mug, and Romo realised he wasn't going to get any further with Lee today. The man was sunk deep in depression, and if the cause wasn't the dissidents…Romo would bet money on Starbuck being the reason.

Romo pushed himself to his feet and took up his cane, bestowing a sort of vague, kindly smile upon Lee, which was wasted, as Lee didn't look up to see it anyway.

"Well. We all got what we wanted then, hmm? If that's all, then I think I'll take my leave. Thank you for your time and hospitality…really." He infused the last word with enough dryness to create a desert and made for the door, where Tigh and Jake waited outside in the shade. Lee made no response, but by that point, Romo wasn't expecting one.

# # #

Caprica was half-asleep, drowsing contentedly in the narrow hospital bed. She had fed Eupheme, and the tiny wee girl was fast asleep in Gaius' arms while Caprica drifted off into much needed sleep. The day had been…long. And then just a few hours after Eupheme was born, once Caprica had washed and dressed and climbed back into bed, Gaius had gone and fetched Tycho and Selah from Joe's. They had come and cooed over Pheme, praised Caprica, congratulated Gaius – it was nice, to show off their daughter for the first time, but exhausting. They had been so excited, so energetic, and Caprica had just wanted to curl up bed at home with Gaius and Pheme and sleep for a good twelve hours. Having a baby was an extremely tiring experience, to say the least. She still couldn't believe it. She had a daughter. A baby. She – and Gaius – had a daughter. Born 50cms long and weighing in at 7 pounds 2 ounces. Eupheme Gaia Baltar. Pheme. So perfect.

Caprica's eyes fluttered open and she looked over at her husband and child, sitting on a chair in the corner of the room. Gaius' hair fell forward over his face as he examined Eupheme, a finger stroking softly over her little hand, making Pheme twitch in her sleep. He hadn't been able to stop looking at her since he had first laid eyes on her, like he was imprinting every one of her tiny features into his mind. He was so happy. So was Caprica. She nuzzled her cheek against the soft pillow and kept watching the two of them through half-shuttered eyes. Gaius was whispering to Eupheme, and Caprica caught snatches of words, filled with emotion she had never heard in Gaius' voice before,

"…best girl, yes you are…perfect little…proud of your mummy…so beautiful…love you so much my little…my two girls…everything I could ever want…"

Caprica smiled and closed her eyes.

# # #

Author's Note:

And so ends Episode Two: "Is This What You Wanted?"

I hope you have all enjoyed it – I know I enjoyed playing with the characters and making them do my evil bidding.

_Thank you_ to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. Please don't forget to leave your thoughts on the story as a whole, or this chapter in particular, by clicking on the little review button. Your comments are what keep me motivated…and I definitely need the motivation at the moment :)

The first chapter of Episode Three: "_Said the Spider to the Fly_" will be up in around a week's time, and is entitled "_In the Arena – Eight am_".

_Teaser:_ In the next episode… The focus rests on Romo Lampkin and the politics of Landfall, Gaius is made a proposal, Lee and Starbuck try to muddle through, Hoshi gets a lesson, Romo has a special friend, and the Tighs, Lee, and Starbuck all get invited to dinner…


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